Children of Akatosh
by CDrake
Summary: In the wake of recent victories, an ancient threat resurfaces to challenge Ketar Dov's status as Dragonborn, forcing him to enter the murky world of Apocrypha in search of answers. In the midst of this, a question to Serana creates tension that hinders their ability to work together. Conflicting gods and priorities can be quite a pain when all Kay really wants to do is get married.
1. Dawn

"Let's get married."

That single statement caused a few reactions among the denizens of Skyrim. If the person saying it was attractive, or powerful, or in some other way appealing to the recipient, the reply was typically an enthusiastic yes. If not, then likely a no. The people of Skyrim had short enough lives that marriage wasn't something to delay, but to embrace and dive into wholeheartedly. As a result, when proposing to a Nord of either gender, you knew whether or not they loved you _very_ quickly. In this case, said so clearly and simply, as if it were deciding to go for a stroll on a clear Sundas morning, that statement elicited a…much different response.

Specifically, the rapid ejection of half a mouthful of water from the mouth of the female recipient.

A pair of sunset-orange eyes snapped from their previous focus, a large, imposing edifice with two stories and a balcony overlooking a waterway; to stare directly at the speaker. The recipient's reply was nothing short of shocked. " _What_?"

The speaker, a tall, lithe man in hooded black leather armor, shrugged his shoulders and began twirling a small throwing knife between his fingers, never taking his eyes off the building. "Think about it, Sera. You already live with me, we share _everything_ —including a bed—and love is far from lacking." His gaze flickered to the woman at his side, a smile twitching at his lips. "We're practically _already_ married, so why not go all the way?"

Sera's lips pursed tightly as she stared back at him, shifting her eyes back to the house so he wouldn't see her blushing. "It's not that simple, Kay."

He shrugged. "And why not?"

"B-Because," she said, scrambling for words, "marriage isn't something you're supposed to rush into, right?"

He snorted derisively. "Serana, it's been over two _months_ since we realized that the depths of our feelings were mutual. Compared to the rest of Skyrim, we're dragging our feet."

Serana gave him a complete deadpan look. "When did we start comparing ourselves to the rest of Skyrim? Or anyone, for that matter?"

Ketar sighed hard and stopped twirling his knife. "You're missing the point here. We've been together, _courting_ , for a…relatively long time." He smiled at her. "And I can't think of a single other person who I'd want to spend my life with more."

Serana sighed and smiled back. "That's sweet, but I think you're considering our situation a little irresponsibly."

He frowned. "How so?"

She arched a raven eyebrow. "Do I really have to list the reasons why this is a bad idea right now? Okay. Maven—"

"Who we're currently dealing with."

" _Maven_ ," she repeated with extra emphasis, "Vingalmo, Alduin…need I go on?"

Ketar stared at her. "If we're going to base our lives around whether or not we've already slain the monster of the week, we're never gonna move forward."

She shrugged and turned back toward the house. "Honestly, I'd be okay with that."

His stare intensified. "Seriously? What do you have against getting married?"

Serana sighed hard in agitation. "I don't, okay? I don't have anything against getting married, I just—I don't think now is a good time." When she still felt his eyes on her profile, she made a noise in the back of her throat and waved at an armored woman to her right. "Lydia, help me out here."

Lydia released a forced laugh of incredulity. "Oh no. I am _not_ getting between you two when you're having a fight. Learned _that_ lesson right quick."

…

 _Lydia had to shake her head. For all their supposed maturity, Serana at well over a thousand years and Ketar at almost twenty-one, they were bickering like five-year-old schoolchildren, and not in a cute way. In a way that put Lydia's teeth on edge and made her want to clomp them both over the head with her cast-iron pots…which, admittedly, would give them a common enemy and probably stop their fighting. Still, as (apparently) the only adult in the house, it was her responsibility to mediate their dispute. A decision which quickly proved excessively hazardous when an overexpression in the form of a backhand by Serana nearly put Lydia through a nearby wall._

…

The pair stared at Lydia for ten solid seconds of silence before Ketar finally responded.

"That is…a _gross_ exaggeration of the facts."

Lydia shrugged and resumed polishing her sword. "Not by much."

Serana groaned at her. "You're of no help at all." Seeing Kay's earnest expression staring her in the face, Sera sighed hard. "We'll…talk about it, okay? Just," she waved at the house below, "not when we're about to invade the home of a homicidal madwoman."

Ketar smiled and nodded. "Fair enough." His gaze turned to the residence. "But we _are_ going to talk about it."

She smiled ruefully. "You never give up, do you?"

"Nope." He smiled wider. "One of the many reasons you love me."

"Sadly…" she sighed, "yes."

Sera smiled over at him when he turned his gaze toward her, the couple exchanging a small laugh before returning to their vigil.

Serana sighed and glanced at Lydia. "I feel terrible about that backhand, by the way."

The housecarl chuckled and sheathed her icy blade. "I know. You spent the better part of half an hour trying to apologize _after_ Ketar healed me up. And helped cook dinner." She winced. "Which…admittedly, he's a _lot_ better at."

Sera arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"…Serana, if you ever cooked, it was undoubtedly _before_ you turned into a vampire. Or you're just _really_ out of practice."

"I spent the last thousand years sleeping, for Shor's sake. Give me a little room for error."

Ketar snorted. "Uh, well, no offense dear—"

"Oh gods, not you too."

"—but I once impersonated a continent-renowned chef who was contracted to cook dinner for the Emperor of Cyrodiil." He smiled sweetly. "It's not a knock on you so much as saying that you're not even close to my level."

Serana stared at him with dangerously narrow eyes, trying to decide whether or not to take the backhanded compliment until—

"No, honey," Lydia said, "your cooking is just that bad."

Ketar groaned as Serana shot Lydia a death glare from the side. Silence overtook the rooftop on which they were currently perched for a full twenty seconds before it was broken by Ketar's voice.

"She is right though."

Serana rolled her eyes and growled at the both of them, silently sulking when something near the house caught her eye. And immediately, she was all business. "Guys—there." She pointed at the western end of the house, where a lightly armored figure was seen exiting the house.

"Shift change," said Ketar excitedly, reaching for his back pocket to retrieve a midnight-black amulet with an engraving of a nightingale holding a teardrop-shaped amethyst. "Karliah, Brynjolf, you there?"

"Here," replied a sultry female voice.

"Here, lad," said an accented Nord.

"Good. Maven's guards are changing shift. It's almost time. You all set on the plan?"

"Aye," replied Brynjolf. "Not going to be easy though."

"If it were easy," Karliah said, "it wouldn't be worth it."

"Settle down, you two," Ketar ordered. "Maven's greatest advantage has always been her reputation. If you believe you're fighting someone untouchable, then you're that much likelier to fail. Maven's just a thug with a lot of money and political power. We're the _Nightingales_ , the chosen instruments of Nocturnal in Tamriel. Maven's presence in the Guild is a blight we were forced to endure because of Mercer's treachery. No more. Her ruthlessness has cost us—and this city—a great deal more than we can probably ever regain, but permanently putting her out of business is a start. So that is _exactly_ what we're going to do."

Over the course of his little speech, Ketar's features, as Serana noticed, had slowly twisted into a relatively new expression that was rapidly becoming familiar. That is, the gear-turning, lightning-fast racing of a master manipulator's mind; manifested by beadily narrowed eyes and a devious smirk that promised delicious mayhem for whatever unlucky soul found itself in his sights. Shocking perhaps to see on the face of a man who prided himself on being genuine and good, but considering the crimes of the dog currently in their sights, Serana was honestly surprised that he was tasking the Thieves Guild to handle her, and not his… _other_ organization. Although, given her longtime status as the oppressive benefactor of the Guild, she supposed it was only right that they be the ones to topple her.

Poetic justice, if you will.

Brynjolf's chuckles reached them over the Nightingales' link. "You always know how to inspire confidence, don't you?"

Ketar smirked. "I try. Now get ready, you two. I'm about to knock on her front door." He motioned to Lydia, who nodded and descended to street level after pulling a brown leather cowl around her hair. "Or, rather, the ladies are."

Two heavily armored women approached the well-lit front of Maven's house, both with glass swords on their hips, one green, the other icy blue. The one with blonde hair and blue war paint on her face pounded the now-unguarded door with the bottom of her fist. Even across the waterway, Serana's vampire hearing could pick up the angry mutterings of a foul-tempered woman inside.

" _Miserable wench—put this to rest once and for all."_

A second later, an aging black-haired woman yanked the double-doors of the manor open with a scowl and fixed the blonde with a fierce glare. "Screaming my supposed crimes in the streets is one thing, Mjoll. Coming to my house and breaking down my door is quite another."

Serana could hear the mirth and sarcasm in Lydia's butting reply. "Looks like it's still on its hinges to me—no thanks to your rough touch."

Maven Black-Briar's gaze slowly dragged over to the cowled Housecarl, her head cocking slightly. "And who the hell are you?"

The grin in Lydia's voice could be heard clear as day. "Your worst nightmare."

Maven scoffed derisively and shifted her attention back to Mjoll. "Say your peace so I can have my guards throw you off my property and get on with my night."

Mjoll's voice hardened as her right hand settled on the hilt of her sword. "In the name of Skyrim and justice, Maven Black-Briar—you are under arrest."

A few seconds of silence passed before the criminal matron broke out cackling. " _Really_? By you and what army?"

Maven snapped her fingers, and immediately, several Riften guards came out of the nearby bushes and around the corners of her manor, boxing in the two women with swords and pikes. Lydia and Mjoll went back-to-back, the former deploying her Spellbreaker shield, the latter drawing a long boarding knife from the back of her belt with her off-hand.

Maven, meanwhile, was gloating at Mjoll. "When you first arrived in my city and started crowing about 'corruption' and 'justice,' I let it slide. Thought it'd be entertaining to see a lone woman attempt to crush my empire." Her smile faded. "It isn't funny anymore. Abandon this idiocy and leave Riften forever, or die here on a dozen blades."

Mjoll chuckled. "Funny. I only see your sorry pale ass here."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Lydia nodded to Mjoll, then brought her shield up in front of her face as Mjoll did the same with her sleeve.

A malevolently smirking Ketar brought the Nightingale amulet to his mouth. "Now."

Immediately, two violent explosions of light and sound hit either side of the guard clusters, the disoriented soldiers coughing and shouting as they were instantly robbed of both sight and hearing. And with that, Ketar slapped Nocturnal's Embrace to his chest, gave Serana a wink and a grin, and leapt from the rooftop to join his brother and sisters.

…

While running toward Black-Briar Manor, Ketar's mind wasn't occupied by tactics or who he'd hit first. Honestly, he'd decided all of that before the flash potions went off. The sight of Mjoll beating down Maven's guards with the blunt ends of her weapons reminded him of how he'd managed to convince her to be on their side. It was…well, easier than he expected, but that wasn't saying much. Given her antagonistic stance toward the Thieves Guild, both other Nightingales had had their doubts about including the Lioness in their plans, but even after confessing his role as Guildmaster, Ketar had managed to reason with her and lay the blame for Riften's corruption squarely where it belonged: in Maven Black-Briar's lap.

Well, her and previous Guildmaster Mercer Frey, who Ketar had already executed for treason against the Guild. And if that wasn't enough, the chance to finally stick it to the smug Black-Briar matron sealed the deal. By one look alone, he could definitely tell Mjoll was enjoying this. A _lot_. Like, way too much. She and Lydia were both half-cackling with glee at this point, which was starting to creep _Ketar_ out, much less the significantly less prepared guards currently subject to their wrath. Ketar's first move upon joining the fray was to drive a leaping heel-kick into the helmet of a guard whose blade strayed way too close to Lydia.

The one next to him panicked at the sight of his midnight-black armor and tried to escape, but found himself yanked backward by a magical tether around his neck and choke-slammed into the ground. A third guard tried to take a few swings at Ketar, but it was obvious from his lack of form and precision that he too was coping poorly with the effects of the terror Nightingale armor had a tendency to inflict. As a result, Ketar easily dodged or redirected his strikes, his bracers deflecting two grazing swipes as he charged inside the man's block and laid into either side of his helmet with the knuckle-plated gauntlets of his armor. Three, four, five shots impacted the steel helmet hard, denting it and dazing the man inside. A leaping knee to the face finally rendered him unconscious.

More guards poured into the courtyard around Black-Briar Manor as the two other Nightingales finally arrived, one nailing two guards with needle-tipped arrows dipped in a paralyzing toxin as she leapt from a nearby rooftop, the other tackling a female guard who was charging Lydia's side with a pike and delivering a punishing knife-hand to her neck. Maven herself had long retreated into her house, prompting Ketar to frown behind his mask and run for a nearby support pillar. He leapt toward the pillar and gripped its sides while his legs were braced against its flat front, using his leverage and powerful limbs to scale the vertical surface and reach the tiled roof one floor up.

A powerful explosive fireball built in his left hand, releasing into the side of the roof a moment later and blowing a flaming hole into the residence that he leapt through a moment later. Once inside, even Ketar had to admit that Maven had impeccable taste, but if it weren't for his friendship with Ingun, he'd have planned to burn the whole place down. Jarl Balgruuf would certainly have appreciated the symbolic gesture. Two more guards, mercenaries, by the look of their leather armor, rushed Ketar from either end of the second-story hallway, one with a battle-axe, the other a curved short sword. Two five-inch ebony throwing knives cleared their slots on either side of Ketar's chestplate, thrown toward either end of the hallway.

Only one hit its target, the axe mercenary, while the other was imbedded into a wooden serving tray adeptly repurposed as a shield by the other merc. A small hum of respect left Ketar's throat before he summoned another magical tether and lashed it to his other hand, expanding and retracting the Aetherial cable as needed. The battle-axe fell toward Ketar's shoulder in a diagonal sweep, the blow dodged when he pressed himself to one wall of the relatively narrow hallway and shin-kicked his attacker in the gut. His left hand released its end of the magic lash, the right jerking its wrist and snapping the cable over the merc's face in a blow that rent the side of his cheek and sent him reeling in pain.

The sword mercenary threw his makeshift shield at him, Ketar dodging to the side and swinging his lash toward the knife imbedded in its surface. The magical tether wrapped its far end around the hilt, and another snap of the wrist wrenched the weapon free, effectively creating a blade-tipped whip that was then used to slash at the charging sword merc in several sweeping diagonal motions. Battle-axe had recovered and was trying to bisect Ketar with a massive horizontal strike, but the whip's knife-head imbedded itself into the high ceiling above, the cable retracting and pulling the Nightingale just out of the weapon's reach. His new vantage point also allowed him to plant a backwards double-kick on the forehead of the axe mercenary, launching the burly Nord backward and himself toward the sword-wielding Bosmer in front of him.

A flying drop-kick from Ketar was barely dodged with a backward dive-roll, the Nightingale not letting up for a second as his whip danced with every twitch of his wrist. This merc was talented to keep avoiding or deflecting his strikes, to be sure, but Ketar was Dragonborn, hardened by over two years of fighting and trained from birth by the Blades. This soldier of fortune never had a shot. A high feint with the whip was yanked back with a jerk of the cable by his off-hand, the right snapping again in a long thrust that imbedded the ebony knife in the Elf's shoulder. That anchor point was used to yank the screaming merc over Ketar's shoulder and into his recovering comrade.

They went down in a heap of leather and flesh, Ketar retracting his whip and returning the knife to its slot as he strode past them, his now-unoccupied right hand charging a kinetic bolt and delivering it to the head of the Elf, which sent his forehead careening into that of the Nord below him. Ketar's slow, measured steps echoed softly throughout the manor, despite the muffled enchantment on his boots. Still, he wasn't worried. To be perfectly honest, he _wanted_ Maven to know he was coming. After everything she'd done, everything she'd put him and the Guild through, it was very important that he enjoy this. And for once, he wanted the Black-Briar matron to experience exactly what she'd held all of Riften in the grip of for so many years: fear.

As Guildmaster, Ketar had been inside Maven's residence a few times before, each time learning more and more about its layout in preparation for the inevitable reckoning he'd bring down on her head. As such, he knew about Maven's secret room in the basement, the one she used to perform the Black Sacrament when she wanted someone dead. The Night Mother would often summon him when this occurred, but ultimately, as Listener, it was his decision whether or not he'd task the Dark Brotherhood to carry out the mission. Ever since putting the plan in motion to topple Maven, he'd selectively tuned out her requests in an effort to throw her even further off her game.

After all, if everything she used to rely on suddenly stopped working, she was that much more likely to panic.

Apart from the ritual chamber, however, Ketar also knew Maven kept a secret exit in her basement that led out through the city cistern, the other end of which Serana should currently have been watching if she stuck to the plan. The moment he came to the door leading to the basement, he knew it'd be locked and wasted no time trying the handle. Instead, he used both hands to charge and release a powerful kinetic bolt that shattered the door inward and permitted him access to the descending staircase. His body glided down the steps like liquid darkness, the dim light of the basement sconces illuminating a tall, burly Nord man with sleeveless steel armor and Imperial-made bracers and greaves.

And a wickedly serrated Orcish dagger in his right hand.

Ketar stopped short at the sight of his taller adversary, tilting his head slightly as he took in a breath. "Out of respect for your brother Dirge, I'm going to give you one chance to surrender."

The Nord sneered. "Do you have any idea who you're messin' with? Maven Black-Briar is the most powerful woman in the Rift, and she hand-picked _me_ to be her bodyguard." He nodded toward the stairs. "Those idiots outside may have been easy pickings, but I won't be."

"I know. I'll probably be forced to _kill_ you if we come to blows. That's why I want you to surrender."

His eyes flashed with defiant fire. "Maul doesn't surrender to _anyone_."

Ketar sighed hard, fists clenching at his sides. "So be it."

They faced off in silence as they paced around the room, Ketar's hand dipping to his thigh and snatching up the hilt of his Nightingale Blade, a flick of his thumb deploying it fully and a slow twirl of it cutting the air with an audible whoosh. His other hand drifted to his side, gripping the pommel of the weapon as he came to a stop, blade pointed down and away, on the side of his body opposite Maul, out of his sight. The Nord shifted his knife to an underhanded grip, bracing his left palm against his forearm and readying himself. Ketar's stance widened slightly, the displaced dust beneath him shifting and swirling through the stale basement air as they both stood stock-still.

Without warning or even preliminary tension, Maul's body lunged forward with lightning speed, a horizontal slash coming for Ketar's neck as he just stood there and waited. The moment Maul's feet left the ground in a short leap, Ketar dropped to a crouch and pivoted his hips to the left, bringing his sword to bear and pushing the pommel forward with his off-hand as the orichalcum dagger passed just over his head. A pronounced _shing_ split the air of the room as metal was rent and pierced, a quiet spattering noise following immediately after as blood stained the far side of the storeroom. Maul's heavily armored body slumped over Ketar's shoulder as he choked on his own blood, the Nightingale easily lifting him up and laying him over a flat crate nearby as he slowly slid his sword from the Nord's gut.

A gentle tug relieved Maul of his weapon, which was laid on another crate as its owner gasped for breath, eyes wide in shock and fear.

"I gave you a choice," Ketar said simply, voice grating through his mask.

Maul didn't even have enough strength to respond as he breathed his last, his eyes closed a moment later by Ketar's gloved hand. A series of quiet clicks sounded through the room as the Nightingale Blade retracted, its hilt replaced on Ketar's hip as he took off toward the escape tunnel.

…

Serana had to admit, this cloak-and-dagger business was a great deal more enjoyable than open fighting, made especially so by the fact that she was able to utilize her vampire speed and agility for something other than direct confrontation. Melting into the shadows had always been a favorite pastime of hers, ever since the first days of her parents'…spirited arguments. She would hide in the darkest crevices of Castle Volkihar, and when Valerica or Harkon came to look for her, she would count how long it took them to find her.

She got a lot better at it when their arguments turned into fights.

So, needless to say, sneaking up on a crazed Nord matriarch already half out of her mind with terror was little more than child's play. Dealing with her two remaining bodyguards was as simple as dropping down behind them and tossing them both in the bay, considering how much metal armor they were wearing. Maven's head snapped around the moment she saw her guards go flying, eyes immediately locking with Serana's glowing ones and widening even further. Serana had to smile. It had been a long time since she'd seen that look on anyone's face and been happy about it. Well…perhaps not that long, considering how many of her father's lieutenants she'd struck down.

The effect was made especially delicious by the fact that Serana was wearing a mask and armor that were apparently appropriated from the Dark Brotherhood, a visage Maven would no doubt recognize considering her extensive dealings with the organization. Over the months that they'd planned this not-so-little operation, Serana had become privy to Maven Black-Briar's many crimes, and grown to truly _hate_ this woman. So, seeing that element of realization and betrayal blossoming in the matriarch's countenance was absolutely _intoxicating_. The next words out of her mouth were equally so.

"You…but…I don't understand. I've paid you well, every time, and we—"

Serana's hand shot out and grabbed Maven by the collar, lifting her off the pier for effect. " _We_ are done with each other. The Brotherhood has fallen under… _new_ management, and as such, our Listener has deemed you no longer necessary."

Maven snarled. "Then get it over with already. I have no time or patience for grandstanding."

She yanked the other woman closer, so they were almost nose-to-mask. "I don't _care_. You will be dealt with as the Listener declares, and at present, your blood is worth far less to him than your life."

Maven stared at her for a few moments as her meaning sunk in, then broke out into laughter. "You fool. You mean he actually plans on turning me in?" Another laugh. "Good luck with that. I _own_ the Jarl and every guard in this city." She smiled viciously. "I _am_ the law."

Serana's head cocked slightly. "Here, perhaps. But this city is not the only one you've sinned against."

A cold dread entered Maven's eyes as she started to put the pieces together.

"And besides, we wouldn't presume to deny your staunchest adversary the satisfaction of bringing you down herself."

The matriarch bared her teeth. "You dare—"

Serana backhanded her before she could utter another word, then brought her hand back for a forward slap. Two more repetitions of this later, and Maven was hanging half-conscious in Serana's grip, her lower lip split open and various bruises already forming around her face. Maven's right eye and half-swollen left eye timidly met Serana's gaze a moment after she stopped.

Sera smirked behind her mask, eyes flashing with predatory glee. "You were saying?"

Maven gulped and shut up after that.

…

Ketar wasn't winded by the time he reached the end of the manor's escape tunnel, which was surprising given how intricate and lengthy it was. Still, when he reached the exit, he was pleasantly unsurprised to see Serana standing at the other end with a restrained Maven, who looked a little worse for wear but overall intact. The two guards in the river struggling to stay afloat, on the other hand, well…suffice to say Ketar mercifully cast them lines with which to pull themselves to safety, then escorted Serana onto Maven's boat and shoved off. Instead of taking her to safety, this ship would be her one-way ticket to a Whiterun jail cell.

Ketar touched the Nightingale amulet on his chest, whose jewel glowed dimly. "Nightingales, reroute to rendezvous."

"You got it, lad."

"Want us to bring Mjoll?"

"Please do," he replied. "This is her victory, after all." He waited a moment before speaking again. "How are the guards?"

Brynjolf answered. "Stiff, sore, some with serious injuries but nothing too major. All are gonna have wicked headaches come morning, but no fatalities."

Ketar smirked. "Not even from Lydia?"

He chuckled. "She restrained herself, as per your orders."

"What about your end?" Karliah asked in concern.

Ketar's smile faded. "Maul didn't make it out."

Silence occupied the other end of the link for a while as Maven's eyes widened at the news. Ketar waved for Serana to get her out of earshot.

"Dirge isn't going to be happy about that," Brynjolf said finally.

Ketar's upper lip twitched. "Well I've never been particularly happy with _him_ either, so I guess we'll both have to live with disappointment." He could feel the silence on the other side and sighed. "Look, I didn't have a choice. He wasn't going to stop and knowing his skills, he would've forced me to kill him or be killed at some point. I just cut out the middleman…and his spine. He died quickly."

"…that's not going to matter to—"

"I don't _care_ ," he snapped. "Dirge and his brother were murderous cutthroats, exactly the kind of people we're trying to weed out. If he doesn't like the way I do things, he can take it up with me, and if we come to blows, he'll share his brother's fate."

"Then how does that make you any different?" asked Karliah.

Ketar frowned. "The difference is that I gave him a choice, to walk away peacefully, without threat of reprisal. Maven never gave _anyone_ that deal."

"Except Mjoll just now."

He smirked nastily. "Karliah, you and I both know she never would've honored that deal. I would've gotten a summons from the Night Mother and another contract I'd have had to ignore."

The Dunmer sighed. "I suppose you're right, but still…this was supposed to be a bloodless takeover."

"I know. I'm the one who made the plan, remember?" Ketar frowned deeply. "Look, I'm not particularly happy about what I did, but it's done, and considering the kind of person Maul was, I can't say I'm sorry about it. It's one life versus the dozens, maybe _hundreds_ of lives Maven has ruined. If killing a single sociopathic mercenary is the price to bring her down, I pay it gladly. Given no other choice, you would've done the same. And we did…with Mercer."

Brynjolf sighed. "Fair enough, lad. See you in a few."

Ketar felt the Nightingale amulet's power dim to an inactive state, then made his way toward the bow of the ship, where Maven and Serana were sitting on opposite sides of the vessel. The Black-Briar matriarch was staring daggers at the black water, only the creak of Ketar's boots on the ship's planks grabbing her attention.

In lieu of being able to cross her arms due to her ties, Maven knitted her fingers and laid her hands in her lap as she glared up at Ketar. "So…what now, _Listener_?"

Ketar's head cocked slightly, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "You tell me. A woman like you, smart, powerful, connected…you've undoubtedly planned a contingency for exactly this outcome." He seated himself next to Serana and steepled his fingers as he leaned forward. "What's your next play?"

Maven smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, I most certainly would." Silence overtook the boat for a while. "But let's keep things fair. Information for information, if you will." He waved at the open water. "Right now, we're on our way to Heartwood Mill, where a few friends of mine will be meeting us, one of whom you're intimately familiar with."

She snarled. "Mjoll."

He clapped softly. "Got it in one. Altogether, we're going to serve as an escort all the way to Whiterun, where you'll be put on trial and imprisoned without question for planning a major theft of the Hold's resources."

Maven smirked and cast him a haughty look. "Even if you manage to get me there, that trial will never happen. My reach extends far beyond just the Rift; I have friends _everywhere_."

"I know. I enlisted a few of them to make tonight happen."

Her expression flattened.

"You have been a very naughty woman, Maven, and a great many people have noticed that. Your ruthless tendencies put off many of your allies from the start. All I had to do was convince them I had the power to bring you down, and they followed suit with quite a bit of zeal."

Her upper lip started twitching. "The Empire will never stand to see me incarcerated."

"The Empire has no jurisdiction in the local affairs of the Holds, and they know it. So does Jarl Balgruuf, who is, shall we say… _displeased_ with your actions. Any action on their part to free you will be seen as an encroachment on local authority, and should Balgruuf make a stink about it, news of that _will_ reach General Tullius—who will immediately silence anyone corrupt enough to attempt to interfere. Not because he himself is unsullied, of course, no…because as the Empire's point man here in Skyrim, he answers directly to the new Emperor—who I hear is quite the straight arrow compared to his predecessors.

"So…" Ketar smiled malevolently behind his mask, "to put things in simple terms, you stepped on too many toes, you bought the farm, your goose is cooked… _you're screwed_." He shrugged. "I figure Mjoll will be happy to recount a detailed list of your many sins, but since I've wanted to do this almost as long as her…I figured I'd take the honor of first blood."

Maven's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who are you?"

Ketar felt Serana stiffen at his side as his lips twitched with a mixture of a smile and a snarl. "Oh…" he chuckled darkly, "you have… _no_ idea how much I want to answer that question. But as powerful as I am, I'm not foolish enough to tell you my true name. The Dark Brotherhood may not answer your call anymore, but there are many hired blades who would. Suffice to say, I'm someone you pissed off. Which," he shrugged, "admittedly, doesn't narrow things down any considering how long your list of enemies is." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "But that's all you're getting."

Maven snorted derisively and averted her gaze, her eyes blazing with fire as they approached Heartwood Mill on their left, several familiar figures ashore. Ketar gave Serana a nod as she guided the boat to the shoreline, and together they anchored it to a nearby pier as Mjoll and Lydia climbed aboard, the latter still wearing her cowl. Mjoll and Maven came face-to-face, the animosity between them clear as day even in the darkness of twilight.

The face-painted Nord woman scowled at Maven. "I've been waiting a _long_ time for this. Hope you enjoyed all those years sitting on your high chair, Black-Briar, because by dawn's end, I'm going to drag you into Dragonsreach by your over-starched collar."

Maven's eyes narrowed aggressively. "We shall see."

Two midnight-black horses, one riderless, galloped up alongside the Nightingales currently standing on the dock, Ketar and Serana joining them a moment later as the rider dismounted and strode toward the ship.

"Nazir," Ketar greeted, grasping the other man's forearm.

"Listener," he returned with a glance at the ship's occupants. "You weren't kidding."

He sighed. "Afraid not. You and Lydia are going to be on guard duty, and not just from external threats."

"We're keeping those two from killing each other on the way." Nazir smirked. "A strange job for an assassin."

"On the contrary, you're the only one who might be able to incapacitate Mjoll without doing permanent damage. Well, you and Lydia together."

Nazir waved at the horses. "Your mounts, as requested."

Ketar nodded his thanks as he approached one of the black horses, its red eyes tinged with an otherworldly glow. He affectionately ran his hand over its mane. "Hello, Shadowmere. It's been some time."

Nearby, Serana mounted up on Stormbreaker's back and exchanged a look and nod with Ketar. The Nightingales likewise found their own mounts and cantered off into the distance, presumably to locations unknown, but in actuality to follow the boat somewhere out of sight. They watched as Nazir climbed onto the boat with Maven and Mjoll still glaring at each other—from opposite ends of the vessel, thanks to Lydia. The housecarl gave her master one last look before he nodded to her, and they shoved off to coast down the river.

…

As soon as the vessel was out of sight, Serana pulled the mask and cowl off her face and turned toward Ketar.

"I have to admit," she said, "it was…fun, playing a part. Assassin wouldn't be my profession of choice, but considering no one actually died…"

"The reputation that comes with that armor tends to do most of the work." Ketar smirked. "And your eyes probably didn't hurt either."

Sera grinned. "I think those unnerved her more than the mask."

She tossed her hair and ran her fingers through it to work out the tangles caused by bunching it up in the cowl. The action drew Ketar's attention, as expected. Not even his Nightingale mask could hide it.

She smirked. "I can feel you staring."

"Is that a complaint?"

Sera tossed him a grin. "What do you think?"

She could almost see him smiling behind the mask as he shook his head and pulled on the reins of his horse—which smelled funny, even from this distance. "Let's go. We don't want to fall too far behind in case they actually do need our help."

Serana leaned down and gently patted Stormbreaker's neck as she pulled an apple from his saddle and fed it to him whole. He chomped the whole thing down in one go, making a slobbering mess of himself as Sera chuckled and brought him to a canter. She glanced over at Ketar to see his eyes locked onto the river, made almost black by the still somewhat-disconcerting full mask of his Nightingale armor. It was, well…darkly beautiful, to put it simply. A bit like he'd described her whenever she transformed into her full vampire lord form. Ketar never saw her as any less than who she was, but it still scared the living crap out of him on occasion.

Especially when…

 _He looked up to see Serana laying into Vyrthur with her claws, slashing away and rending his armor to bloodstained shreds of metal. By the time Ketar was able to stand, she'd nearly torn his entire torso to pieces. He lunged for the rail between him and the courtyard, eyes wide in near panic as she dug all ten of her claws into his chest._

 _"Serana!"_

She bit her lower lip. _Yep. Best not to revisit that._

"Something on your mind?"

Sera's head snapped toward Ketar, whose eyes were locked onto hers. "I—um…"

She bit her lip again. _Damn him and that voice of his…I was never this visually expressive until—_

"Sera?"

She blinked a few times and smiled over at him. "Just wondering…why keep the mask on? We're nowhere in sight of the boat."

Ketar blinked behind the hood and let out a small chuckle. "Honestly?" He reached for his hood. "I forgot I was wearing it."

Serana blinked as the mask receded into the Embrace, the shadows of twilight cast over his face like ebon curtains and—

She nearly facepalmed. _Oh gods, I'm waxing poetic. I can't be going senile this young. According to Mother, I still have another couple of centuries._

Well, whatever the case, Ketar's features were…at this point, _freaking gorgeous_ would be putting things mildly. Add to that the fact that she hadn't fed in a couple of nights and they'd been so busy planning that the only alone time they had together was when he passed out and she joined him—

"Nirn to Serana."

Another hard blink. "Sorry, spaced out there for a second."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. I hadn't noticed."

Her eyes rolled. "All right, point taken." She smirked. "Smartass."

He grinned. "Maybe, but you know you love it."

"What, your ass? Oh yeah, definitely."

A sharp, expected cough answered her first. "Well…good to know."

Sera threw him a grin that was all teeth and fangs. Ultimately, it didn't matter how expressive he made her, or got her to open up. If she could keep doing _that_ to him—meaning a sowing, watering, and reaping of a gigantic ripe tomato all in the space of about five seconds—it was _totally_ worth it.

…

They both fell silent after Serana's little quip, silently following as Maven's distant rearguard, with Brynjolf and Karliah serving as the vanguard. It wasn't for lack of conversation topics either. The knowledge of the escapades Ketar got into with his Blades guardians when he was a kid alone opened up a whole new world of hilarity and warm moments. Serana, on the other hand, well…she didn't like to talk about her past much. He'd tried to get her to open up multiple times, and to a degree, she had, but there was only so much she was willing to discuss. Too much pain, she said; nothing really worth reminiscing on.

A part of him had wanted to press, but he knew what she meant all too well. There was no way in hell he wanted to discuss his time as a vampire either. Well…he _had_ , but not eagerly. It was just something they'd have to work on together. Healing, as they'd discovered, was infinitely more effective when two were working at it. Well, except for—

…

 _"Are you sure this is gonna work?"_

 _A derisive snort. "Of course. I'm the Arch-Mage of Winterhold, Sera."_

 _"I'm just saying, this potion smells a bit off. Maybe if we added a little—"_

 _"Serana, do you trust me?"_

 _"Of course, but this isn't about me right now."_

 _They stared at each other briefly before looking back down to the massively nauseated and hungover Jarl Balgruuf, who'd fallen ill after a_ very _long night of celebrating the solstice. He'd protested when Irileth, his housecarl, insisted on summoning the court wizard for something to help him. His Nord ego didn't permit him to admit he hadn't been able to hold his liquor. Nevertheless, once Farengar appeared, the Jarl had allowed himself to be poked and prodded and examined, whereupon the mage had prescribed a mild herbal remedy. Unfortunately, it backfired and only got worse from there, even when Restoration magic was put in play._

 _Thus, how the couple that was quickly becoming the talk of the town ended up in Dragonsreach, standing over Balgruuf's half-conscious, groaning body. Speaking of headaches, there had only been talk because of the incessant blabbermouth of the perpetually drunk Torvar. And maybe the rest of the Companions had had something to do with it too. About two months back, after defeating Serana's deranged father and returning Auriel's Bow to its guardian, Ketar made the mistake of inviting Brynjolf and Lydia to Jorrvaskr for a drink to celebrate the Jarl coming onboard with their plan against Maven. And, of course, because they never seemed to go anywhere alone, Ketar brought Serana along._

 _And a few people noticed._

 _Well, more like_ everyone _, really. Still, he supposed it could've turned out worse. Though, admittedly, not by much. Especially considering Aela had had_ waaaay _too much to drink…_

 _"Hello? Kay!"_

 _He blinked hard and met Serana's questioning gaze as his mind returned to the present. "Sorry, what?"_

 _She sighed and gave the potion another sniff. "I don't think this is gonna work. At least, not the way we want."_

 _Ketar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sera, don't you think you're being a little—"_

 _"Think about it, Kay. Magic, herbs, nothing has made a difference so far. That, and I've seen these symptoms before."_

 _"Yeah, so have I, every day after a party at Jorrvaskr, when the Companions drag themselves out of bed."_

 _Her head shook. "Not the hangover. The hangover's incidental. Or, rather, coincidental."_

 _He frowned. "What then?"_

 _Serana glanced around and, making sure they were alone, pricked her index finger with a fang, then sent a few drops of her blood into a nearby tankard, then filled it partway with watered wine, dilute enough not to exacerbate the hangover._

 _Ketar's eyes went wide. "Sera, what are you doing?"_

 _"Relax. This small of an amount isn't enough to turn him, just to give him a small taste of my regeneration."_

 _He snorted. "If that's the route you're planning to go, you might as well just give him_ my _blood."_

 _Serana frowned and shook her head. "It wouldn't take as thoroughly as mine. Vampire blood is designed to be compatible with mortal bodies."_

 _"So is dragon blood, or I wouldn't be here."_

 _"Touché, but the advantages I get from your blood work because vampires take on the traits of whatever they feed on. Human bodies aren't designed for that. If anything, you'd tickle whatever it is he's feeling. And besides, are_ you _immune to food poisoning?"_

 _He blinked. "What?! Someone poisoned the Jarl?"_

 _Sera sighed. "More likely, he just ate something that didn't agree with him and attributed his nausea to everything he drank last night. The bad news is, the toxin's had all night to ferment and fester in his digestive tract."_

 _Ketar arched an eyebrow. "And the good news?"_

 _She smirked. "His pride as a mead-chugging Nord can remain intact."_

…

Balgruuf knew what she was. The moment his eyes opened and locked on hers, Ketar was sure of it. Still, he'd drank from the cup and recovered relatively quickly. Even made a quip about needing more to help cure future hangovers, at which Ketar bristled a bit. Balgruuf took the hint. That was one thing he'd always loved about the Jarl. Well, there were a _lot_ of things, really. He was levelheaded, stubborn for the right things, and knew better than to get himself embroiled in the twisted world of politics, especially at this turbulent point in time. In the two months since Harkon's death, Ketar had received word from both Imperials and Stormcloaks about the status of their agreement.

From the wording of the letters alone, he could tell both sides were hungry for blood and highly agitated at the time it had taken for Ketar to fulfill his end. Still, the Imperials seemed even more impatient, and he'd had to wonder whether or not that was because of a certain foreign Elvish hand applying pressure. Either way, he knew he couldn't delay for too much longer, and truth be told, he didn't want to. If there was ever a time he felt ready to face Alduin, it was now. Surrounded by friends and family, enveloped in love, with something to _live_ for. A great many people believed that when given nothing to lose, all restraints release and you become stronger.

Ketar didn't subscribe to that.

On the contrary, when he had felt he had nothing to lose, nothing left to live for, he walked into every fight expecting—and in a way hoping—to die. He wasn't afraid of death, and as a result reveled in its presence, flirted with it over and over and over again. When he looked back on those days, Ketar could only shudder and shake his head to remind himself of his life now. He'd been playing with fire every single day back then, and unlike the sun, it could still burn him. Now, looking back at that person made him feel strange, as if he were out of his own body looking in.

And he _hated_ him.

Ketar had felt self-hatred before. A lot. Especially then. But, in retrospect, his perspective at the time was skewed and off-base. The truth was, back then he didn't have a true basis for what, for _who_ he was supposed to be. It was all work, work, work because that was all he'd known. And sure, he'd had friends, but with the loss of his childhood guardians, and the betrayal of bastards like Mercer Frey…to say he'd been extremely embittered was a _major_ understatement.

The vampirism was just the icing on the cake.

Even now, just _thinking_ about it made him want to scream and club his younger self over the head. It must've showed, because before he knew it, a smaller form leapt into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, warm eyes staring back at him in concern. Without a single word passing between them, Ketar felt a sting and tears leap to his eyes. His heart ached and arms left the reins to curl around her shoulders. His cheek laid against the side of her head, her long raven hair curled into a bun to prevent it from falling out of her cowl. He nuzzled the skin at the nape of her neck and tightened his arms around her. Not a single word was exchanged, but that embrace communicated so much more than he could ever put into words. A few moments in, he got the feeling that went both ways.

Shadowmere, surprisingly, wasn't making a stink about her hitching a ride on its back. He'd thought for the longest time that the horse (or whatever the hell this thing _really_ was) would buck off anyone not connected to the Dark Brotherhood. Maybe it was because Ketar was there that made it okay, or maybe it didn't feel threatened by its new passenger. Whatever the case, he was glad for the uninterrupted moment. It seemed like they'd been going absolutely non-stop for so long, and truth be told, they pretty much had. And it was all his fault. That was when it clicked for him, the reason why (maybe) Serana had been so leery about even _discussing_ marriage.

They had been together for three months, spending pretty much every day living together, true, but at least one of those months had been spent performing relentless preparations for this very night. Serana probably felt neglected, or at the very least put on hold in favor of something else—which was in essence the same thing. And of course she hadn't told him, because she was sweet and kind and understanding and (in this particular case) they shared the same mission. But how much would it really have cost him to pay her a little more attention? A little time, probably, because there was no way he'd have risked botching Maven's takedown by cutting corners. Still, what was an extra week or two between operations?

With a deep, hard sigh into Serana's shoulder, Ketar realized that he had more than enough to pound himself over in the present to keep focusing on the past.

"Sera," he muttered into her shoulder.

A low chuckle rumbled through her. "Yes?"

He turned his head sideways, using her shoulder as a pillow as he frowned up at her. "I'm sorry we haven't spent more time together lately."

She blinked and tilted her head. "What do you mean? We've practically been inseparable."

Ketar winced. "What I mean is, time alone, or…even out with friends, doing something that isn't all…cloak and dagger."

Serana smiled. "To be honest, I've enjoyed our cloak and dagger pursuits. In fact…" She bit her lower lip, vainly restraining a grin.

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but…in fact what?"

"Well," she curled a strand of hair around her forefinger, "you see…there's this fantasy I used to have —"

Ketar coughed sharply, face burning up. "And I'm gonna stop you right there."

She gaped. "You didn't even know what I was gonna say!"

"Probably something that would make it…very difficult to focus the task at hand, to say the least."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" She grinned wolfishly and raked her fingers through his hair as she curled both hands around his head and pressed her forehead to his. "I'd say you're already pretty distracted."

Ketar's jaw worked as he let out a hard sigh. "Fair point."

She tilted her head, appealingly exposing the delicate skin of her neck. "Besides, Brynjolf and Karliah will warn us if there's trouble."

"Assuming it comes from their direction."

"In which case Stormbreaker and this weird horse will detect it and warn us."

"Sera—mmph!"

Her lips left his with a quiet smack, a smoky look in her eyes as they met his. "You talk too much."

He could feel a familiar heat quickly building in his chest as he stared back at her. "And here I thought I kept the idle chatter to a min—mmm—"

She whispered her next words against his lips. "You keep on talking, I'm gonna have to shut you up again."

Ketar smirked as he looked into her eyes with a taunting gaze. "What if I want you to?"

Serana gave him a grin that was all teeth and silenced him again, longer this time, in a way that told him she was _definitely_ missing their one-on-one time. They broke apart a few moments later, the vampire still grinning like a mischievous cat.

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "You look— _way_ too happy with yourself."

Her fingers kept stroking the back of his head and neck in a way that was really starting to agitate him—in the best of ways. "Well it's not every day I get a catch like this." She kissed him for emphasis, pulling away as her eyes warmed. "You don't know how lucky I feel, Kay."

He smiled and gently laid his forehead against hers. "I don't know about that. I think I've got a pretty good idea." He smirked wryly. "And, well, considering what I'm wearing, I don't think luck's that much of a problem."

Serana laughed and held him close, pressing his chest flush against hers and gently nuzzling his ear. She whispered into it a moment later. "You know, I never did get finished telling you my fantasy."

His eyes widened, and he hesitated for a moment before replying, "Continue."

She leaned back and tossed her hair, grinning. "Okay, so…all this cloak and dagger work we've been doing got me thinking—"

"Mhm. Got you thinking."

"—about an old fantasy of mine." Serana smiled deviously. "Two spies from rival nations, constantly making plays against each other, dodging and thrusting in a game of cat and mouse. All the while, many of the times they meet, they're hairs away from killing each other, but can't due to circumstances, and because of that they're forced to spend time together."

Ketar's head cocked. "Oh? How would that work?"

She smiled and kept curling her hair around her finger as she stared into the distance. "Well, like a banquet with visiting dignitaries. One of them is tasked with assassinating the other's ambassador, and when the plan is thwarted, they meet in the grand ballroom. And right when they're about to throw down, the room floods with guests and music starts playing. And, well, they have to save face, right? So they start dancing together. And they turn it into a bit of a competition, and…" she bit her lower lip, one fang sticking out cutely, "over time, it grows into something more."

Ketar sat there transfixed, the horses amusing themselves with trying to bite apples out of each other's saddles as they trotted along.

"He's a professional, and doesn't have time for games, but she…she's the playful one, and always taunts and baits him into doing something stupid. Or tries to. Every time, he resists, and every time she ups her game. This goes on for a long time, _years_ even, and…eventually he gets the upper hand." Sera pursed her lips. "And for a moment, she's terrified, because she knows how cold he can be, but still hopes that, somewhere under the surface, there's a heart that feels _something_." Her eyes turned to his mildly gobsmacked expression. "And it does." She pulled her hair from its bun and started twirling it into a braided ponytail. "Instead of using his dagger on her, he uses it to pin her cloak to a wall, keep her from slipping away like she did all those times.

"He reaches out, touches her hair, runs his fingertips down her neck…"

Her eyes slipped shut as she envisioned it, Ketar managing to snap himself out of his trance as he got an idea and reached out to ghost one gloved hand over the edge of her hair.

"…reaches under the clasp of her cloak and pushes it back to expose her lower neck, right where it meets her shoulder."

Ketar lowered his hand further and gently peeled back part of her Shrouded Armor, exposing that very spot.

"And he…he kisses her there. Hard. Hard enough to leave a mark that'll last for days."

He looped one arm around her midriff, pulling her back into him while the other kept her neck tilted to one side, leaving her exposed neck vulnerable. Ketar felt her breathing shudder as his lips touched her skin, his teeth and tongue following a moment later and softly scraping over her sensitive neck as she gently trembled in his arms. A sharp breath was inhaled when he started to suckle her skin, producing the exact effect she mentioned (well, not quite—he knew it would heal in a matter of hours, but that wasn't the point).

Serana's voice came out shakily as she struggled to finish. "And then he leaves her there, with his dagger and an easily concealable mark that no one will see but her."

Ketar felt her hand on the one holding her midriff and spread his fingers to allow her to lace hers between them, his nose buried in her sweet-smelling hair. "Does she ever see him again?"

He heard the smile in her voice when she replied, " _Everywhere_. He's a phantom in her mind, and no matter how hard she tries, she can't get him out. Truth be told, she doesn't _want_ him out." She smiled wider as his lips ghosted over the pulse point on her neck. "Because for all her playfulness and flirting, he manages to disarm her in one move, and that…that's a beautiful thing she can never snuff out. So when he's wounded on a mission gone awry, and he finds himself at the mercy of his enemies—her countrymen—she stands in their way. For the first time, they find themselves on the same side, and they're absolutely _unstoppable_. The two of them find the humanity that both sides forgot existed in each other, and just like that, they can't let the war go on. So they use all their talents and contacts and resources to leverage both sides into sitting down, and by a miracle of the gods, they end the fighting for good. All because two people loved each other enough to ignore what they were…and see _who_ they were."

Ketar's lips were trembling on her neck, eyes shut tightly and throat closed. He gulped his way past a lump as he pressed a tender kiss to her jaw and whispered, "I love you."

Serana's head turned with her body as she sat sidesaddle and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you too." Her fingers gently stroked his hair as she held his head against hers. "I love you so much."

Ketar's arms tightened around her smaller form, hands pressing into the tight muscles of her back as they held each other. A flicker of light in the edge of his peripheral vision drew his attention, and he looked right with Serana as a truly beautiful sight rose over the peaks of the Velothi Mountains: the rising sun, a constant, living reminder of Ketar's heritage—and the eyes of his most beloved. They both smiled widely as Serana turned away from the brightness of the portal and faced west, still holding each other tightly. It was the dawn of a new day.

And Ketar didn't want to miss a second of it.

* * *

 _ **DO NOT SKIP PAST THIS**_

If you haven't already (and this story isn't making sense as a result), go read _Your Eyes at Sunset_ , the prequel story to this one.

* * *

AN: Okay, so, this is probably significant weakness on my part, releasing this chapter before I've got a full arc out, but you know what? It's taken me two weeks to get this far, and I was so excited by what I wrote that I said, "Screw it. It's not like I'm leaving them on a cliffhanger—this time."

So, welcome one and all to _Children of Akatosh_ , my second entry in the _Dragonborn Saga_ and the final chapter of Alduin's downfall. A lot will be happening in this story that didn't in the game, just like _Your Eyes_ , so strap in and get ready for a _very_ wild ride.

I don't want to give anything away, because I'm super excited, but I'll also be introducing some actual OCs (very peripherally) who will become very important later. If not in this story, then probably in the next one. Truth be told, I created this guys with one of my brothers _years_ ago, like, before high school years ago. It started out as a mild foray into LARPing, and, well…I'll spare you the embarrassing details, but suffice to say that experience—which is still ongoing—is in great part why I became a storyteller.

So, when presented with the chance and arena to bring that story into one that people will actually read, my response? Oh HELL yes. Suffice to say, you'll know what I mean eventually.

Anyway, thanks for stopping by and reading this long-ass chapter (as usual). I hope you'll stick around for more, because I ain't stopping yet.

 _Oya vode_.

\- CDrake

Musical Inspirations:

Arrow (Season 5) – Back with a Vengeance/Meet Tobias Church: start-0:46—entering Black-Briar Manor/merc fight, 0:46-end—downstairs/confronting Maul

TES V: Skyrim – From Past to Present: flashback to Dragonsreach/musings over the past/Serana's fantasy/break of dawn


	2. The Trial of Maven Black-Briar

_**DO NOT SKIP PAST THIS**_

For those of you who do not understand what's happening in this story, go to my author page and read _Your Eyes at Sunset_. It's the prequel to _Children of Akatosh_ and a must if you want to know all of what's going on.

* * *

As it happened, their plan had, for once, gone off without a hitch. It seemed Lady Luck (or Lady Nocturnal, as the case may have been) was on their side on that particular morning, because they coasted along to Whiterun without incident. After the sun came up, the Nightingales doffed their flashy armor for their Thieves Guild leathers, and Serana abandoned her Shrouded armor for her usual royal attire. Even if they'd come within clear sight of Maven's boat, which they didn't for security reasons, she never would've been able to tell it was them for several reasons.

First: they all wore hoods by default, which made them difficult enough to recognize. Second: it had been absolute pitch black when they left Riften that morning, so their horses couldn't possibly be identified. And three: Maven and Mjoll had been so busy glaring holes into each other the whole time, they doubted she even noticed that it was daytime. She certainly noticed when the boat touched down at the pier next to Honningbrew Meadery. Lydia could practically see Maven's mouth going dry even though her lips were tightly shut. In her many visits to Riften, with or without Ketar, Lydia had run into or witnessed Maven Black-Briar at work and gotten a firsthand look at the emotions she was capable of.

Thanks to what she'd learned from Ketar, just one witness of how Maven completely tore apart an Argonian shopkeeper and took her for everything she had was enough to tell Lydia everything she needed to know. The woman was a complete sociopath who got off on the suffering of others, respected nothing but power, and worshipped money. And she was absolutely, unequivocally _deranged_ , and not in a fun way. Not like Lydia. And from her point of view (though possibly biased) anyone who was deranged, but not like her, was dangerous to themselves and others.

So, to see fear, true fear, blossom in the eyes of that monster was…well, the term "wet dream" sprang to mind before she could stop it. Speaking of stopping, Nazir had finally managed to tie off the vessel while Mjoll was properly binding Maven. Well, shackling actually. Ketar wanted no mistakes, so he'd tasked Sorine Jurard with making a set of virtually inescapable wrist irons based on Dwemer schematics. It had cost a pretty penny but not enough to make a dent in his considerable wealth (the specific numbers of which he hadn't told _anyone_ , even Lydia), and based on how completely helpless Maven now was, it was worth every copper.

"And now for the fun part," Mjoll drawled with glee.

Maven's eyebrows hiked upward. "Fun pa—"

She cut off abruptly when the other Nord grabbed her collar and used it to yank her out of the boat.

Mjoll gave the Black-Briar matron a feral grin, obtrusively gripping her collar. "I told you."

Maven just snarled and unwillingly allowed herself to be dragged off toward the gates of Whiterun with Lydia in tow. She cast Nazir a brief glance when he didn't go with them, but he waved her off.

"Need to take care of the vessel," he said. "Can't leave any evidence behind."

Lydia nodded to him, then turned back toward Mjoll and Maven, who was fighting the Lioness at every step. The housecarl's quick arrival and grip of Maven's opposing arm put an end to her struggles—on the outside at least.

Eyes desperate, Maven turned to Lydia. "Mjoll may have resigned herself to this idiotic crusade, but _you_ can still make a different choice, whoever you are. Free me now, and I can make you the richest woman in Whiterun, or any Hold you choose."

Lydia blinked and turned to face her, staring at Maven from beneath her cowl in disbelief. And then she exchanged a look with Mjoll and they both started laughing. And _that_ was when Maven's face paled even further, and it finally sank in that all her money and power meant absolutely _nothing_ in the company of these women. Needless to say, that realization prompted her to cooperate, at least for now. As such, the journey to Whiterun's gates was uneventful. Once they arrived there, on the other hand…well, that was a different matter entirely, considering that most people knew about Maven through her inter-Hold dealings. Pretty much the only ones who knew her by face, however, were the guards, primarily because they'd been advised to expect her arrival.

The moment the gate guards caught sight of Lydia and the others, they made for the ring handles on the massive double doors and pulled hard, opening the way toward Dragonsreach. The city was just reaching the early stages of waking activity. Adrianne Avenicci had her forge burning full-tilt. Belethor was shouting the usual absurdities from his general store. The grocers and jewelers were active and calling out prices to the few potential patrons passing by.

All of that came to a stop as soon as the trio came through the gates.

Adrianne laid down her hammer and leaned against the front support column of her shop. Belethor froze in place. The merchants in the open marketplace fell silent. All eyes were on them. Lydia and Mjoll didn't miss a step, didn't stutter once as they proceeded up the street, steadily climbing the hill to the Jarl's hall. Point of fact, the guards made sure they had a clear path by manually parting the crowd that had come to watch. As for Maven herself, she looked nervous, but bore a confident smirk nonetheless, chest puffed out. Which meant one of three things. Either she was certain her money or reputation would still get her out of this mess, she was scared shitless and just too proud to show it—or she had an ace up her sleeve even _they_ hadn't thought of.

Whatever the case, Lydia vowed to see this woman dealt with by the end of the day, by law or by sword.

…

"You don't have to testify. The letter will be enough."

Brynjolf threw Karliah a rueful smile as he sharpened an ebony dagger at his hip, the two of them sitting on the roof of Jorrvaskr and looking out at the city of Whiterun as Maven's entrance turned heads. "I know, lass. But it wouldn't make much difference either way. Soon as she sees that letter presented as evidence, she'll know the leak came from somewhere within the Guild. And I'd rather she sends whoever she's going to send after me than someone who's unprepared and wasn't even involved."

Karliah sighed, her dark blue skin slightly paler than usual as her red eyes followed Maven's ascent to Dragonsreach. "I suppose I can't fault you for that. I just wish…I wish there were a way to keep you out of danger."

He chuckled. "Karli, if I wanted to stay out of danger, I'd have become an honest merchant, or better yet, an innkeeper." His head shook. "I'm just not cut out for the quiet life."

"Hmph…too unfamiliar or too scary?"

Brynjolf grinned and slipped his dagger back into its sheath. "Too boring." He pushed himself upright and made his way toward one side of the roof. "I've spent a great deal of my life liberating coin and valuables from the pockets of the wealthy, spending them on the Guild or myself." He smiled and crouched at the edge. "It'll be…a nice change of pace to rob someone because it's the right thing to do."

"You do know we're never going to be able to _spend_ any of that money, right?"

He nodded slowly. "Aye, lass, but that's the point. The Thieves Guild has been about selfish gain for too long, I think. Once Maven's out of the picture, we can start to focus on what _really_ matters, what'll really make a difference in the long run."

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Which is?"

Brynjolf drew himself up to his full height and looked up at her. "Using our wealth to reinvigorate the Rift and all the people Maven's stepped on over the course of her career. Taking the fat of the corrupt and giving it back to the people they stole it from. Maybe it's too little, but it only takes a little to tip the scales between hope and despair. The people of Skyrim, and Riften in particular, have suffered under the thumb of dictators for too long, whether that's political figures like the Thalmor, or criminal kingpins like Maven. Their homes, their livelihoods—everything has been at risk this whole time, like it could be pulled out from underneath them at a moment's notice, because it didn't belong to them." He smiled widely. "It's time to give it all back."

Karliah stared at him for a while, her face eventually breaking out into a grin as she slowly shook her head. "You're starting to sound like Ketar."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well…maybe the kid's got a point. Now come on." He leapt from the roof and landed in a crouch, the two of them making their way toward Dragonsreach. "We've a long, productive day ahead of us, and it's anyone's guess how we're gonna reach the end."

She patted his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, Bryn. We're Nightingales. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together."

"Aye, lass. Thank you."

…

Coming through the gates of Whiterun was always an…interesting experience for Ketar. The first time he'd done it, it was after narrowly escaping a beheading in Helgen, then escaping the reason he survived that (which turned out to be about a billion times worse). Needless to say, he'd been more than a little high-strung. The second time passing into those gates, it was after slaying his first dragon (which was harrowing but immensely satisfying) and Speaking in the dragon tongue for the very first time. That alone would've been disorienting enough if he (and the rest of Skyrim) hadn't heard the Greybeards Shout his title from High Hrothgar and the top of the Seven Thousand Steps.

When Jarl Balgruuf had explained the significance of such an act, and he'd heard the reverence in the older Nord's voice…well, to say that day was surreal would've been the understatement of the Era. On this particular morning, walking through the gates on the heels of Mjoll and her prisoner felt like the calm before the storm. Not everyone in Whiterun knew Maven Black-Briar by face, but enough would've to have spread the word, which should've had the entire town in a buzz by then. Except Ketar entered the city gates less than ten minutes on the heels of her arrival, so naturally all eyes were on him and Serana. He didn't need Sera's vampire hearing to know what the bystanders were whispering about. They were the same questions he'd have been asking.

 _"What's going on?"_

 _"What's the deal with those two?"_

 _"Is he involved?"_

Just because he knew what they were thinking, though, didn't mean he enjoyed being the center of attention. Adrianne was the only one to actually step forward and ask.

"Lord Dov," called the Imperial woman. "What's going on up there? Your housecarl just dragged Maven Black-Briar into Dragonsreach and my father's refused to comment on it."

Ketar turned his head to face her, but kept walking, lips pressed into a thin line. "The end of an age, Adri. You're witnessing the end of an age." His jaw tightened. "And good riddance."

She crossed her arms and leaned against a pillar of her shop. "Well _that's_ cryptic."

He smirked. "Have you _met_ me?"

Adrianne snorted and shook her head as she got back to work on the forge.

The black-clad pair proceeded past the market and up the hill. Ketar blinked when he felt a familiar warmth in his hand and felt his lips twitch upward when he recognized her touch. He laced his fingers with hers and tightened his grip on her hand a bit. Apparently she noticed something about him that he hadn't.

"You're tense," said Serana. "Scared? Or just nervous?"

Ketar chewed his lower lip as they passed the altar of Talos in the city center. "I don't know. Bit of both, probably. Maven's been something of a fixture in my life for most of the last two years. An uncomfortable, despicable fixture, but still. It feels like we're about to cross a river currently embroiled in a maelstrom."

"Isn't that why you went to such pains to hide your identity?"

"True, but that won't matter much once she knows Brynjolf's involved. That's if she hasn't already figured out Lydia is the one who brought her in."

Serana frowned. "She'd recognize her?

"We weren't in Riften together often, but Maven's no idiot, and she never works with anyone without taking the time and effort to learn their dirty little secrets."

"You think she'll rat you out to Balgruuf?"

He snorted derisively. "Rat me out to the man who intends to put her in prison?" His head shook as they ascended the steps to Dragonsreach. "Even chained and collared, Maven has more pride than that. No, she'll turn to someone worse to exact her revenge. Much worse."

"Wouldn't that normally be…you know…your people?"

"Normally, yes, but it's like I told her: the Brotherhood isn't the only organization who trades coin for blood."

"Maybe not, but what hired blade would be stupid enough to tangle with a Dragonborn?"

"…fair point."

All conversation came to an abrupt stop the moment they reached the top of the steps and the massive double-doors of the Jarl's hall. Ketar gently placed his palms against the gate and exchanged a look with Serana.

"Ready?" she asked softly.

He exhaled sharply. "As I'll ever be."

With a hard push, the gates swung open with a loud metallic creak, revealing a large, high-vaulted hall and a room thick with tension.

…

Going from queen of Riften to shackled before a Jarl like a common criminal. Serana couldn't imagine how humiliated Maven was feeling at the moment. Still, considering what she'd done, humiliation was the least of her problems at the moment. Especially with the way Balgruuf was fuming on his throne. The room was silent for a long time after Ketar and Serana made their entrance. The Jarl's eyes flickered to the pair briefly before fixing back on Maven.

"Maven Black-Briar," he said evenly and firmly. "You stand accused of a litany of crimes, not only against me, but all of Skyrim. As I only have authority over Whiterun Hold, I cannot punish you for all of them, but for the ones I can, I fully intend to exact retribution to the highest degree permitted." He turned to his steward. "Proventus, read the charges."

The Imperial man nodded and unfurled a scroll from his side. "In the matter of Maven Black-Briar, accused of crimes against Whiterun including, but not limited to: smuggling, criminal conspiracy, conspiracy to break and enter, and conspiracy to commit grand larceny." He rolled up the scroll and tucked it into a pouch at his belt.

Balgruuf leaned his chin on his fist as he fixed Maven with a piercing gaze. "By Skyrim's laws, no fine in itself is near enough to account for these assembled crimes. In addition, since they were plotted in secret against myself and the entirety of my Hold, your punishment must be even more severe. Ordinarily, I would suggest incarceration and significant corporal punishment—" he glanced at Ketar, "—but my trusted Thane has advised mercy. And since your aim was to rob me blind, I found it entirely appropriate that you be forced into hard labor—without pay."

Maven smirked. "This is all assuming that you find me guilty. As the present, all you have are accusations and hearsay. I, on the other hand, have an impeccable record and a great deal of friends here in your Hold."

"You have business partners," said a new voice from the side as its owner stepped forward, "not friends. Or, _had_."

Maven's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Mallus? But—we—I gave you everything you own!"

The Imperial man crossed his arms and scowled at her. "On the contrary, I traded one slave owner for another. You manipulated my vulnerability and desperation to cut out your competition, then exacted a cut of my profits that went _far_ beyond usury!"

She snarled. "I didn't hear you complaining about your living conditions!"

Mallus' lips pursed. "When all you eat is sand, even rotted fruit is a step up."

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing, apparently sensing she'd admitted too much already.

Mallus turned to Proventus Avenicci and handed him a folded letter. "On there, you'll find a detailed plan to subvert my ownership of Honningbrew Meadery and extort vast quantities of profit from my business."

The steward read it over several times before turning to the Jarl. "This letter bears her stamp and signature, and appears authentic."

Balgruuf nodded gravely, then turned to Maven. "In addition, I have signed statements from no less than three of my own guards claiming they received bribes from you or persons connected to you in relation to cargo traveling in and out of Whiterun. They too will be punished for their crimes, but their decision to come clean counts in their favor, as it shows more repentance than you have thus far."

Serana remembered exactly how they'd… _convinced_ those guards to go turncoat. Suffice to say, Nocturnal's Embrace had come out to play more than once in the last two months, and the night of Maven's arrest wasn't the first time she'd worn her loaned Shrouded Armor.

"As for your crimes against the Hold," Balgruuf continued, "I have both evidence and a witness to corroborate it."

Maven tried to cross her arms, but was unable to in her shackles, and simply frowned and clenched her fists as a result. "This should be good."

Serana smirked from the shadows. _You have no idea_.

And with a grin and a swagger, Brynjolf stepped forward into Maven's view—and laughed almost immediately. He turned to the Jarl and held up a hand. "I'm sorry. I know this is serious; it's just—the look on her face—"

Balgruuf cleared his throat sharply. "Get on with your testimony please."

Brynjolf smothered another chuckle in his fist, then schooled his features into a semi-serious face. "As you wish, sir." He reached to a pouch at the back of his belt. "I have _here_ —" he whipped out Maven's letter dramatically, "—a signed and sealed letter from Maven Black-Briar outlining a plan to, as she puts it, 'liberate a significant portion of Whiterun's treasury for our good use.' I met with her myself to discuss the details, and can name at least a dozen additional co-conspirators and accomplices."

At this, Serana finally looked to Maven and found that yes, the look on her face was absolutely _priceless_. A bit like a fish out of water, or a deer in the torchlight, or—

Serana mentally facepalmed. _And there I go again, waxing poetic._

"You," the kingpin said at last, rising fury lacing her whispering tone, "you… _betrayed_ me." She snarled and bared her teeth. "You insolent swine!" She lunged toward him, stopped only by Mjoll yanking her back. "How many jobs did I feed to you and your gutter rats?! I lined your pockets, made you a part of my empire, and _this_ is how you repay me?!"

Brynjolf's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your deal was with _Mercer_ , wench. I _never_ approved of working with you. Your ruthless ambition was a red flag from the beginning, but I suppose it was only fitting, you two working together. You're both snakes. The difference is, you never even _bothered_ to hide yourself in the grass." His arms crossed. "The Thieves Guild used to stand for something more than just petty theft, and it will again, but not as long as we're allied with you."

Maven's eyes flickered to Ketar's hooded form, as if noticing him for the first time, and a mad fire entered her eyes as she slowly dragged her gaze to Jarl Balgruuf. "This man is a self-admitted thief and criminal of the highest order, yet it seems like I'm the only one on trial."

Balgruuf eyed Brynjolf appraisingly. "Far as I've heard, the only one he's been stealing from of late…is you."

Maven blinked once, twice, then pinned Brynjolf with a piercing glare. "You… _you_ were the one raiding my caravans!"

"By Talos, I think it's learning," the thief mocked.

Her head snapped to Balgruuf. "He stole _thousands_ of Septims worth of goods from Black-Briar caravans over a space of _months_ , and killed several of my guards!"

"Tell me," Brynjolf countered, "is it really criminal when you steal from a thief?"

"If you have grievances against the witness," Proventus interrupted, "I suggest you take them up with the Jarl of your Hold…when you are released, that is."

At that, the last of the color in Maven's face drained as her eyes widened and jaw went slack. "This…" her gaze turned to the Jarl, "this isn't a trial...is it?"

"No," he replied. Balgruuf's tone hardened and jaw tensed. " _This_ …is a formality." He rose from his throne and raised his voice to project across the entire hall. "With the overwhelming evidence already presented and confirmed, the processing of your case will go by like water. In the meantime, Irileth—" he turned to his Dunmer housecarl, "—escort Maven Black-Briar to her new accommodations." His gaze shifted to the women who'd brought her in. "Lydia, Lioness—go with her, and ensure we don't receive any more…surprises from our new houseguest."

Mjoll gave him a bow and a feral grin indicative of her namesake. "It would be my utmost pleasure."

Both escorts shoved Maven's defeated form toward Irileth, who gently but firmly grabbed her arm and ushered her toward the dungeons.

The Jarl, meanwhile, turned to the remaining audience. "Brynjolf, Lord Dov—I would have words with you. The rest are dismissed." He waved the others off, prompting Mallus and the guards to vacate the area. He turned to his steward. "You too, Proventus."

The Imperial blinked in surprise, but courteously bowed and backed away. "Of course, my liege."

Balgruuf's gaze fixed on the two men, eyes flickering to the side when he saw Serana.

Ketar noticed. "Anything you say to us, you can say to her."

The Jarl's lips pursed. "Be that as it may…"

Sensing another manliness contest coming on, she put a hand on his arm. "It's fine, Kay. Meet me after?"

His lips twitched with a smile. "Count on it."

…

Ketar watched Serana go, frowning the whole time as he braced himself.

"You must trust that girl quite a bit."

He turned to the Jarl. "With my life. More than once." His head shook slightly. "And she's never let me down."

Balgruuf nodded slowly and took a deep breath, descending the steps from his throne to get closer to the pair. "Since we no longer have the disadvantage of prying ears, I'm going to be frank with both of you." He looked between them a few times, making Ketar feel very much like he was back in lessons and about to get reamed out by Katja. The Jarl took a deep breath. "Maven was not wrong about her accusations against you."

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow and pressed an index to his chest. "Against me?"

The Jarl gave them a flat look. "Do you two take me for a fool?"

Ketar blinked. "Of course not, but what makes you think—"

"For Shor's sake," he interrupted with an eye-roll, "it's like you've forgotten I _know_ you. Dov, when you first came to Whiterun, you proved yourself by recovering a long-lost artifact from a tomb filled with monsters and traps. _Then_ , you slew the first dragon in _ages_ when my guards—including my very capable Irileth—could hardly lay a strike on it. It's been more than two years since then, and in that time, I've watched you grow from an uncertain young man into a wise hero worthy of song."

Ketar felt his face burning up.

"With that said, and knowing the full breadth of Maven Black-Briar's reputation, criminal or otherwise, there is only one person I know with the courage and cunning to even _attempt_ to bring her down, and inside the confines of the law, no less."

Brynjolf chuckled nervously. "Well, technically—"

Balgruuf cut him off with a hand. "Not another word, or I'll have you arrested on principle."

The thief cleared his throat and nodded.

The Jarl sighed and looked between them again. "My point is that I know what you're capable of, and I know you could very well have slain her in her sleep if you so badly wished for her removal. The fact that you took the time and effort to actually build a case against her when even her own _Jarl_ could not—or _would_ not—lay a hand on her speaks volumes of your commitment to justice. When the established law and order failed to do right by its people, you stepped in." His gaze turned to Brynjolf. "And despite being a criminal yourself, you followed suit."

Brynjolf's expression hardened. "I may be a thief, but I've never conned a struggling widow out of her livelihood or left orphaned children on the street to starve. Maven and I are _nothing_ alike. She's a _monster_."

"And so you took it upon yourself to rid your city of her for good, without bloodshed."

"Inasmuch as possible, yes," Ketar replied.

"We're thieves," Brynjolf added, "not assassins."

Jarl Balgruuf nodded slowly, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. "Ordinarily, I don't approve of vigilante justice." He came to a stop, facing away from them. "However, given that Maven had already bought off most of Riften's supposed 'law,' I suppose I can permit you this exception." He turned toward them. "Just tell me: what is it you intend to do now that she's out of the picture?"

Ketar exchanged a look with Brynjolf, who started to speak.

"Well, the Guild is—"

"If you're going to ask someone that question," Ketar interrupted, "you should ask _me_."

Balgruuf blinked.

Ketar sighed. _In for a penny…_ "Technically…I'm his boss."

The other man stared at him in silence, face impassive.

Kay wanted to shift in place, but restrained himself. "Even if technically, he'll be the one running the Guild, I'm still responsible for his actions."

Another moment or two of silence passed before Balgruuf slowly shook his head and smiled…just a little. "You see what I mean?" His question was addressed to Brynjolf.

Who answered with a smirk. "Aye. Kind of proves your point, doesn't it?"

Ketar blinked. "Wait, I'm lost—what?"

"To answer your question," Bryn continued, "I want to use what we took from Maven to revitalize the Rift, starting with the city itself. Restore some actual order to the place and not have citizens living in fear of who they might run afoul of. She's been sucking the population dry for years; it'll take more than a lump-sum donation to get things back on track, but I'm confident we can pull it off."

"And how exactly will that work?" Balgruuf asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Thieves must steal from someone to survive, after all."

"True, but better to shear a sheep every year than skin it. At the rate she was extorting Riften, Maven would've run her source of income dry in a matter of years. Months, after we started hitting her caravans."

Balgruuf nodded. "I see." He looked to Ketar. "Well, I'll admit I'd pay handsomely for a savvy investor like this. You certainly surround yourself with capable individuals."

Kay smiled a little. "It makes life more enjoyable when I have less to worry about."

Another nod and agreeing huff of laughter. "My boy, you have no idea." He turned back to his throne and ascended the steps, then seated himself. "You've both done me a great service today. If you were not already a Thane, Dov, I would make you one now. And you—"

Brynjolf cut him off with a hand. "I appreciate the thought, but such a title would impede my ability to remain incognito, and for what we have planned, anonymity is absolutely imperative."

Balgruuf's lips pursed as he nodded. "I understand completely. If there's nothing else, you are both dismissed." He smiled. "Enjoy the rest of the day."

Ketar exchanged a look with Brynjolf before asking, "That's it?"

Balgruuf chuckled. "That's it. Go home, both of you, and rest. You've well earned it."

…

Maven restrained the urge to bite as Mjoll the Lioness roughly shoved her into an eight-by-six prison cell and slammed the bars shut behind her.

"Hope you like the accommodations, sow," the Nord gloated. "You'll be staying here for a while yet."

Maven slowly turned to look over her shoulder as Irileth locked the door. "Perhaps," she replied, voice dangerously even, "but do not think these bars make me helpless. You and your friends in the Thieves Guild may have stolen most of my money, but I still have friends on the outside." She smirked malevolently. "You'd be surprised just how much damage I can do from in here."

Mjoll smirked back. "Oh, I'm counting on it. Those guards may have been off-limits and under the protection of the law, despite their corruption, but anyone else you may send after us is not." She grinned. "And Grimsever thirsts for blood."

"Plus," Lydia added, "any actions you take against us will only lengthen your sentence, so…I'd shelve the revenge fantasies and focus on getting comfortable."

Maven's eyes turned to the housecarl as Irileth did something elsewhere. " _You_. I know your master was involved in this. Despite his physical absence, nothing Brynjolf—or anyone in the Guild—does ever escapes his notice. If you value his life, you should warn him to watch his back."

In response, Lydia started cackling. "Oh really?" she asked between laughs. "Maven, he's the _Dragonborn_. The last entity that tried to threaten him was a couple dozen feet bigger than you, so if you want to intimidate him, you're going to have to try a _little_ harder than that."

"Perhaps, but size can be counterintuitive when it comes to effectiveness." She smiled again. "Even the strongest armor has its chinks easily exploited with a smaller dagger."

Lydia snarled and brought her face up to the bars. "You want to get to him, you go through me. Or, more accurately—" she gave her a feral grin that was all teeth, "— _I_ go through _you_."

Maven smirked and leaned back against the far wall, finally able to cross her arms smugly. "We shall see."

The two women glared at each other for a while before Irileth returned.

"Much as I'd love to watch your little staring contest," she said, "I have a job to do, and I can't allow outsiders to remain near the cells unsupervised, so…"

Mjoll held up a hand. "Say no more." She looked to Maven. "Seeing this witch behind bars is more than enough for me."

"I was gonna say something similar," Lydia said as she followed them out the door. "Wasn't gonna use 'witch,' though."

That got a laugh out of Mjoll and a small snort out of Irileth. Maven just glared at their backs and waited until they left to grab the bars of her cell and scream out all the rage she'd been holding in since the previous night. The red haze over her vision lasted for a few minutes as she screamed her throat raw, then collapsed into the corner with a soon-to-be permanent scowl on her face. Her eyes slipped shut as she tried to calm herself down, her right fist clenching and unclenching haphazardly. Distantly, she heard what sounded like the keening of bats as her gaze bore a hole in the dirt-encrusted floor of her cell.

Then, suddenly, the air became still and silent.

The silence itself wasn't the unnerving part, mainly it wasn't an absence of sound so much as what little sound existed was being swallowed up by something. Some unnatural void that stilled the air and set a tension in Maven's bones that had nothing to do with old age.

And then there was a laugh.

A coarse, but somehow melodic noise that echoed through the otherwise-silent chamber outside her cell. The very sound of it set a chill in Maven's blood, and she instantly shot to her feet as she pressed herself against the bars, straining to see around the corner of her cell's wall.

"Who's there?" she called into the silence. When no answer came, she raised her voice in agitation (and no small amount of irrational fear). "Show yourself!"

The response was nothing less than terrifying.

From an empty, darkened cell on the opposite wall exploded a gigantic swarm of bats, black as night and faster than the eye could track. Unconsciously, Maven shrunk toward the back of her cell as it slowly advanced on her, a veritable whirlwind of obsidian wings that gradually faded from distinct forms into a fog of pure darkness. That fog eventually coalesced into a figure just outside her cell, a tall humanoid form with pointed ears and gray hair.

And harsh, sunset-colored eyes.

If Maven hadn't been shaking before, she was now.

The Altmer on the other side of the bars smiled widely, showing the lower half of two pointed fangs jutting from the top of his mouth. "Hello there."

"Y-You're a—a vampire."

"Very astute, Ms. Black-Briar. Very astute indeed. My name is Vingalmo," he said with a bow. "At your service."

Maven looked him up and down, noting his fine gray and black garb and a silver-embroidered shoulder cloak over his left arm. "What do you want?"

"Why," he smiled, "to help you." He clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing in front of her cell. "You see, I've been watching events unfold over the past few months, making plans of my own while your organization was being dismantled piece by piece, and, well…I believe we have a common enemy."

Maven eyed him carefully. "Ketar Dov."

He halted and flashed her an expression that was part smile, part snarl, and all teeth. "Indeed. See, he stole something from me as well, something far more precious than just money, and I would very much like to pay him back for that." He resumed pacing. "The issue is, what he stole from me is the one thing he values most. I cannot harm it without in turn harming myself."

Her eyes narrowed. "You want to know his weakness. Something you can use as leverage."

"Something I can use to isolate him from what I'm trying to recover, yes." He waved a finger at her. "And you seem like a smart enough woman to anticipate needing that kind of information."

A sinister smile turned her lips. "Your instincts are as sharp as your tongue, Vingalmo. However, information has a price. You want his weakness? I want my freedom." She bared her teeth. "And Mjoll the Lioness' head on a spike." She blinked. "No, scratch that. I want her alive so I can do it myself."

Vingalmo's glowing eyes flashed with a vicious fire. "A woman after my own heart. Such a lucky find." He took a deep breath. "Very well. You may have both, but not until I've slain Dov. Your sudden absence will put him on alert, and that will slow our vengeance."

Maven's jaw tightened as she weighed her options. "Agreed," she said finally. "His head you _can_ bring me."

Vingalmo chuckled. "Oh believe me, I intend to, but its final destination will be my keep. After all, I keep what I kill."

Maven smirked. "Only fair." She began pacing her cell in the same position as Vingalmo, matching him step for step as a vengeful fire lit in her blood. "The thing about Ketar Niel Dov is that he's a paradox. Or, at least, it seems that way at first glance. He can certainly come off as cold and unfeeling, but the truth—the truth he seeks to hide—is that he cares too much."

"About whom?"

"Everyone. That's what makes him so completely irritating. That and his unyielding moralistic viewpoint."

"So…anyone will do?"

"So long as they're innocent, sure." Suddenly, a wicked thought flashed through her head, and her grin widened. "But…if you _really_ want to throw him off his game, I can think of one person in particular that you'd have to take."

"Oh?" Vingalmo leaned in closer and smiled. "Do tell."

…

On the way out of Dragonsreach, Lydia was practically strutting her way toward the gate when a familiar voice from the side stopped her in her tracks.

"So you're finally done gloating, eh lass?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and turned to face Brynjolf with her hands on her hips. "Are you stalking me, Bryn?"

He smirked and pushed off the wall he was leaning against. "Maybe I was just waiting for someone to celebrate with."

She waved at the gate. "Ketar already left."

Brynjolf chuckled. "You know I love Ketar, but that boy couldn't party if his life depended on it. Too stiff, too straight, and dry as an old bone."

Lydia frowned sideways. "Are we talking about _him_ , or his—"

Bryn groaned and facepalmed as they opened the doors together. "He was right. Not another mind like yours on the _planet_ , is there?"

She grinned. "Nope. Though in all honesty, that's probably for the best."

He snorted a laugh. "Aye. I don't think I could handle knowing there was another one of you out there. In male or female form." He blinked once before his eyes widened comically. "And if you met…"

Lydia cackled maniacally. "Yeah, one or both of us wouldn't be walking away from that encounter." She sighed wistfully. "Be totally worth it though."

Brynjolf shook his head as they descended the stairs.

"So, this celebration. You have something in mind?"

He shrugged. "Well, I was thinking we could hit up the Bannered Mare, drop all our coin on stiff drinks." A smirk. "See who lasts longer."

Lydia snorted. "As if."

"You do know I own a tavern, right?"

"Doesn't mean you sample the product."

"You obviously weren't there after the Windhelm job."

"Well, duh. Ketar banned me from the Flagon a month before that."

He laughed. "Right. Forgot about that." He cast her a look. "Still…we've never drank together."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "Trying to get me drunk, Bryn?"

"That _is_ the point." He shrugged. "But honestly, I'm just curious to see who'd come out on top."

She flashed him a lecherous smile. "Oh, _are_ you now?" Lydia grinned at the blush that consumed his features.

" _Not_ what I meant."

Lydia laughed. "Good, because trust me—you couldn't _handle_ this much woman."

"That's debatable," he mumbled just loud enough to hear.

Her grin faded to a smirk as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She stopped and turned to face him. "Tell you what. I have a few things to prepare for Ketar's dinner tonight, but once that's done, I'll head over to the Mare. Say…around one."

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow. "Afternoon drinker?"

"Honey, I'm an all-day drinker. And besides, we'd have to start that early to get enough into my system to do anything."

"Oh ho, that confident are we?"

"You bet. So, one?"

He nodded. "One it is."

Lydia grinned. "Bring your A-game, because if I win, you're going to pay back every Septim you ever won from me."

Brynjolf's face lit up. "Oh, so we're wagering now? Hm." He nodded slowly for a few seconds, stroking his scruff-laden chin. "Then if I win, you have to keep up my house for a week."

She arched an eyebrow. "Really think Kay could do without me for that long?"

He smiled. "He has Serana to keep him company."

"Well, sure, but of her many wonderful qualities, cooking isn't one of them."

Brynjolf chuckled. "Then I guess he'll have to flex his culinary muscles. Talos knows he has them."

She shrugged. "True."

"Then it's agreed. You. Riften. My house. Upkeep. You're _my_ housecarl for the week." He outstretched his right hand. "Deal?"

Lydia's lips pursed tightly as she considered the terms of the wager. On the one hand, she could hardly imagine a more humiliating consequence for defeat. On the other, she _really_ wanted her money back. With interest. The way Brynjolf cheated at cards (he swore he didn't, but she would never believe that…ever), and then invested his winnings, it had probably doubled in size by then. Well, that, and she never backed down from a challenge.

A wry smirk played over her lips. "I'm sure I could work something out with Ketar." Her palm slapped against his as she gripped his hand. "Deal."

Brynjolf grinned ear to ear. "Then I'll see you at one."

He threw her a small wink before walking away and quickly vanishing into the growing morning crowd. Lydia always wondered how he did that. Even without forty-pound armor on, she was about as subtle as a mammoth. With an absent grunt and shrug, she made her way toward the marketplace and filled her head with ideas for dinner.

…

"Nap time."

"Can I join?"

"Sure. Once you get some clothes on."

"Kay, come on—"

"No exceptions. Dry up, get dressed, and _then_ you can climb under the covers."

Serana grumbled and groaned as she rolled around in Ketar's tub, considering briefly the pros and cons of flashing him anyway. With a sigh, she decided it was probably for the best that she abide by his rules. If the last few months had taught her anything, it was that few terms of their relationship were set in stone, but his comfort level with regard to physicality was definitely one of them. It was his pace or not at all. He was not above making her sleep on the couch downstairs, though admittedly, she'd never had to test that theory. Still, if he was going to be such a stickler about this, she could technically obey his rules while simultaneously pushing the envelope…just a little.

Thus, why she stepped out of his washroom in nothing more than some _very_ small smallclothes made of black leather. Serana actually managed to impress herself by keeping a completely straight face as he blushed brighter than the morning sun while she strode over to the bed, threw back the covers, and climbed in next to him, her head nestled against his shoulder. He managed to keep his composure for a scant few seconds before speaking.

"That's not fair."

She smiled into his shoulder. "All's fair in love and war." Her lips smacked against his perfect jaw. "And I love you _very_ much."

Ketar grumbled and curled his arms around her mostly-bare form. "You're lucky I love you too."

Sera smiled wider. "I know."

He sighed and held her close, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "It's been a hectic couple of months, eh?"

"After the way we met? I think I'd get bored if things stayed quiet for too long."

Ketar grunted. "You'll think differently after a couple years. Trust me."

Serana sighed and nuzzled his neck. "I know. Everyone needs their rest, but…"

He blinked and looked down at her. "But what?"

She met his eyes. "These past few months, fighting alongside you, taking down Maven, my father...I feel like…I've finally found what I'm meant to do."

He took a breath and frowned a little. "Don't get me wrong. I don't plan on stopping myself anytime soon. I just think I need a little more space between world-ending crises is all."

She laughed. "That's fair."

"Well, that and a little more yield for my efforts. Was a while there when I was wondering if I was actually making a difference."

Serana blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "No matter how many dragons I slew or problems I solved, Skyrim was still on the brink of ruin. It's like I could feel an ever-present tension in the air, like a tense high wire about to snap."

She frowned. "But not now?"

His head cocked a bit. "Well…the tension is there, but…it's…I don't know, more manageable? Ugh, it just feels different. Better different."

Serana gently pressed her lips against his chin. "That's what happens when you stop trying to take the weight of the whole world on your shoulders."

"I guess. Well, that and knowing that I'm not crazy for thinking my father has my back."

"Okay, I'm still trying to wrap my head around that. You came face-to-face with Akatosh, had an actual conversation with him."

He nodded. "Gave me some pretty good advice too."

Serana's head shook slowly. "Two months and I still don't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"How you gained the favor of so many powerful entities, for one."

Ketar grinned. "Guess I'm just that likeable."

"Uh huh. When you're not brooding all the time."

"Oh come on, when have I brooded since we've met?"

"Only every time you've looked at my neck for the last two months."

Ketar had no ready reply for that. Serana frowned. It had taken some time for either of them to notice, but on one particularly bright morning, when Ketar was busy giving her shoulder a hickey, he noticed something on the left side of her neck. Upon closer inspection, he'd gone still and quiet, and when she'd asked him, he'd held up a small hand mirror. Her reaction was about the same as his, if a little muted. Vampires, as a general rule, didn't scar, mostly because of their immense regenerative abilities. If a scar did appear on their flesh, it was usually because it was made with a blessed weapon, or some other implement that was deadly to the undead. In this particular case, none of those were the case. The scar—or rather, scars—had been made by two identical implements, sharp and elliptic, just under two inches apart.

Exactly the average space between canines.

Long story short, since then, every time Ketar had gone to kiss her neck (which he was awfully fond of doing), she'd been sure to divert him away from her left side, mainly because he stopped what he was doing and brooded every time he saw the scars. Which was _annoying_.

"We're going to find him," Serana said after a few moments of silence.

"How? I've had my people scouring Skyrim since Volkihar fell, and they haven't found a trace of him."

"If we can't find him, he'll find us."

"That's what I'm worried about."

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and frowned at him. "Kay."

"I know. We've prepared _ad nauseum_. I'm just…it's like the night before an exam, you know? You know the material, you've studied plenty, but…until the test is right there before you, you have no idea just how well you're going to do."

Serana smiled. "I understand."

"Honestly, I'm just ready for this to be over so we can move on with our lives."

A sigh. "You and me both, Kay." Her hand unconsciously drifted up to the side of her neck, brushing against the disfigured skin. "You and me both."

Before either of them had long to simmer in silence, the doors of Ketar's bedroom burst open with a loud bang, causing them both to jump.

Ketar's features turned in several directions in the space of a split-second, settling on red-faced irritation and embarrassment by the end. "Brynjolf—kind of in the middle of something!"

The red-haired Nord's eyes alone shone with sheer panic. "It's Lydia—I can't find her anywhere!"

Kay sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She's probably out gathering mushrooms or something. Don't get all up in a—"

"Don't patronize me, Ketar."

Both of the pair tensed up at that. By the look on his face, even _Ketar_ hadn't heard Brynjolf use that tone with him before.

"Lydia promised she'd be at the Bannered Mare at one. It's two-thirty. What's more, no one remembers seeing where she went after leaving the market. Not even the guards."

Ketar sat up and frowned. "Okay, okay, just…calm down. She wouldn't have stood you up if it wasn't important—"

"Or if something happened to her."

Serana stared at him. "This is _Lydia_ we're talking about."

Brynjolf frowned deeply. "That's what worries me."

"Who would be crazy or stupid enough to screw with our Lydia in broad daylight?" Ketar asked.

Brynjolf's lips pursed. "My best guess? Maven. She's the only one with motive and means to make something like that happen."

Ketar rose from the bed and began donning his armor. "So soon after her incarceration? With all the housecleaning Balgruuf's done, even _she_ couldn't buy off a messenger this fast, much less get word to someone capable enough to grab Lydia."

"Which means someone came to her," said Serana as she followed Ketar's example. "Question is who."

"My list of enemies isn't exactly short," Kay replied, "but I can't think of many who would've been able to respond to Maven's imprisonment so quickly. The Thalmor, perhaps, but…they haven't had much of a presence in Whiterun since I annihilated their death squad. And there's no way they could've gotten the drop on Lydia in broad daylight."

"Which leaves only someone who knew about her arrest in advance," Brynjolf said. "But hardly anyone in the Guild was in on it and only your top dogs in the Brotherhood knew what you were doing. The rest just signed on because they like you."

Ketar shrugged in concession of that point. "Traitor is unlikely, Thalmor unlikely…who else is watching us?"

Serana's lips pursed. "Standing around here isn't going to solve anything. I'm going to have a look around her last known location, see if I can pick up her scent."

"Not a bad plan," said Brynjolf. "I'll come with you."

She nodded and headed for the door, stopping halfway toward the stairs when she noticed Ketar wasn't moving. "Kay?"

His eyes snapped from the floorboards to her face, gaze flickering briefly to her neck.

Her eyes went wide in horror. "You don't think—"

"If it is, how would you think he'd have struck?"

Serana frowned and stared into the distance, blinking as rapidly as her mind ran. Her eyes snapped to Ketar a moment later. "Is there anyone in this city she trusts? Anyone she's soft on?"

Ketar's lips pursed for a moment. "Carlotta Valentia. She's a widow who works a produce stall in the marketplace. Lydia once told me she fought beside her husband, so they stay in contact."

Brynjolf snapped to him. "Lydia told me she was getting ingredients for tonight's dinner."

"Then I say we start there," Serana said as she made her way down the stairs.

Ketar frowned and followed her. "Not to complain, but why?"

Her upper lip twitched with a snarl. "Because Vingalmo is notorious for turning the people you care about against you."

"You're talking about compulsion."

She nodded as they exited Breezehome. "If I'm right, and he compelled this Carlotta, he could've lured Lydia anywhere he pleased and struck from there."

They broke into a run as soon as they hit the main street, reaching the marketplace in seconds and finding everything running smoothly, business as usual. Nevertheless, something in the air set Serana's teeth on edge, even as Ketar pointed out the widow they were looking for.

Serana's lips pursed as she approached the woman. "Carlotta Valentia?"

The brunette blinked once, slowly, and looked up from a scroll she'd been reading to stare Serana directly in the eye. Her lips spread apart into a smile that made Serana's skin crawl. "Hello, Serana."

The vampire's blood chilled in her veins. "Vingalmo…what did you do?"

Carlotta's head cocked a little as her smile turned puzzled. "Why, what I always do. I took a situation and turned it to my benefit." A troubled look passed over the widow's face for a moment before she resumed smiling. "You really should've learned by now—you can't escape me." Her eyes cast a dismissive glance on Ketar. " _Any_ of you."

Brynjolf shoved his way forward until he and Carlotta were standing almost nose to nose. "What did you do to her, you demented freak?"

Carlotta blinked again, slowly. "You'll have to be a bit more specific. After all, I've had more than one woman in my grasp in recent memory."

Brynjolf's teeth bared, but Ketar gripped his shoulder firmly as he stepped forward.

"Lydia's still alive," said the Dragonborn. "If she weren't, you wouldn't have gone through the trouble of concealing her location. So, why don't we cut through all the theatrical bullshit and get to the part where we kick your ass?"

"Patience, worm."

All three of them froze as a new voice caught their attention from behind, coming from the throat of a Bosmer man standing behind another stall.

"You haven't the slightest inkling of how long I've waited for this."

Ketar snarled. "Two months, one week, and four days."

The Bosmer shrugged and nodded slowly. "Impressive. Though I've actually been waiting far longer than that."

Serana's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"For the day of our union, my dear."

The trio snapped toward a new source, a Redguard man in brown finery.

"I've missed you for so long."

Ketar snarled and lunged toward him, grabbing his collar. "You don't get to force yourself on her, then claim to care about her! You're a disgusting piece of undead garbage!"

"Then why have you kept _her_ around?"

They slowly turned toward the new voice, Carlotta's little girl, Mila, who was standing next to her mother.

Ketar stared at her agape, then looked around the marketplace as he and the others realized that everyone was standing still and staring at them. "You son of a bitch," he breathed. "How many have you compelled?"

"As many as I desire," over a half-dozen voices replied in unison.

As one, they reached into their respective clothes and pulled out small knives, putting the edges to their necks.

Serana's heart leapt into her throat as panic filled her veins. "What do you want?!"

"You," replied Carlotta. "Alone. At the beginning." She gave that unsettling smile again. "You know the place… _Sera_. Cooperate, and maybe I'll spare these…'innocent' people. Fight, and, well…" she pricked her neck, drawing a thin stream of blood, "you get the idea."

Pure, unadulterated horror filled Serana as she stared at the denizens of Whiterun's marketplace. On her second light-headed turn-around, her eyes alit on little Mila, the girl smiling innocently as she put a straight razor to her own neck.

At which point the chill completely vanished from her body.

Instead, Serana felt the full fiery burn of Ketar's dragon blood in her veins as she reached inside and found an immense wellspring of pure power.

…

Later, Ketar would decide that what happened next was simultaneously incredibly awesome and utterly terrifying. Namely, Serana's response to Vingalmo's threat.

Laughter.

Loud, inhuman, and tinged with near-madness; peals of laughter came from Serana's throat over and over again as she reared her head and let them out. With a hand over her eyes, she slowly shook her head as she began to calm.

"Oh, Vingalmo," she drawled, a razor's edge in her otherwise even, leisurely tone. "Did you really think I would be cowed by such _childish_ theatrics?"

Carlotta blinked and stared at her in confusion, then smiled. "Well, I hardly think—"

"Shut up," Serana snarled with authority, her voice echoing within itself in a way that was decidedly not human as she leveled Carlotta with the fieriest glare he'd ever seen.

And to his amazement, the widow obeyed, eyes going wide with alarm.

Serana's tone was a near-growl and laced with pure hatred. "I don't remember giving you _permission_ to speak, or think." She cast the rest of the crowd a brief glance before fixing Carlotta with another stare. "Now, _drop it_."

As one, the sound of metal clanking on cobblestone followed her words as every drawn blade hit the ground.

Seeming pulled in sixteen different directions, Carlotta's face twitched with several expressions before she managed to exhale, "How?"

"Because, Vingalmo, you may have taken my blood, and you might bear my power, but you will never—" her voice rose sharply, "— _ever_ be my _equal_!" Serana's lips turned upward in a malevolent smirk. "I'll come to you, like you asked." Her upper lip twitched. "But I won't be alone, and I'm _not_ coming to make friends." Her head tilted slightly. "See, I've decided you already died." Her face twisted into a murderous smile. "I'm just coming to pick up the body." She drew closer to Carlotta and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. "And if you harm…one _hair_ on Lydia's head—" she snarled and bared her fangs, "—Molag Bal _himself_ won't be able to repair what I do to you.

"Now…" Serana pointed two fingers at Carlotta's face, her voice echoing once more, " _piss off_."

And like that, the marketplace's inhabitants blinked and exchanged a few looks before returning to their business. Needless to say, Ketar and Brynjolf's jaws weren't leaving the ground anytime soon. Serana had other ideas.

She turned to them abruptly. "Kay, is Stormbreaker ready for a run?"

Ketar blinked and shook himself off. "He's been resting since the morning, so yes."

She nodded firmly and moved for the city gates, the other two in tow. "Good. We have a long journey ahead of us."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "Sera…where are we going?"

"To the place where all this began." Serana scowled, jaw clenching. "We're going to the Ancestor Glade."

* * *

AN: Exactly two weeks! Well, I'll admit I'd hoped to have more for you by now, especially since this chapter is kind of a cliffhanger, but I wanted to make sure you guys know I'm still working. Just…busy.

On that note, there should be only one more chapter left to this arc. It's going to be long, surprise surprise. And then a short rest before the next metaphorical bomb drops. I'm _so_ excited for the next chapter. I've wanted to write it since I planned out Vingalmo's story arc in the Saga. Prepare for some more epic vampire hunting next chapter, and an immensely satisfying conclusion to _Children's_ first story arc.

With that, _oya vode_.

\- CDrake

Musical Inspirations:

TES V: Skyrim – Dragonsreach: Balgruuf's lecture/"hero worthy of song"/dismissed

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Child of the Elder Blood: start-0:56—insane laughter/Serana's threat/breaking compulsion, 0:56-end—business as usual/end of chapter


	3. Rescue and Revenge

_**DO NOT SKIP PAST THIS**_

For those of you who do not understand what's happening in this story, go to my author page and read _Your Eyes at Sunset_. It's the prequel to _Children of Akatosh_ and a must if you want to know all of what's going on.

* * *

"Okay, I have _so_ many questions about what just happened." Ketar pointed back at the marketplace as they approached the gates of Whiterun. "When the _hell_ did you learn to do that? When did _he_ learn to do that? I thought even vampire lords could only control one or two minds at a time."

Serana tilted her head as she pushed one gate open, Kay taking the other. "Ordinarily, that's true. For one or two _strong_ minds, that's about all we can compel, but that's for full mind control. For simple tasks, like, say, speaking—or cutting one's own throat—we can apply compulsion over multiple people with little difficulty."

"Still," Brynjolf said with a frown, "Vingalmo has to be nearby to have controlled them, yes?"

"Not necessarily."

She leapt from a construction scaffold and fell easily twenty feet to land on one of the lower walkways without breaking step. The Nightingales followed closely, rolling to cushion their falls as they followed her to the stables.

"Meaning what?" Ketar asked.

Her lips pursed tightly. "A few weeks after Volkihar, when you went up into the mountains to deal with that dragon, I went back to the island to visit my mother."

Ketar nodded. "I remember."

"Well, during that visit, we scoured the castle for a number of magical artifacts owned by my father. Most were pretty innocuous, but one in particular was missing: the Bloodstone Chalice—which was not a good sign."

He frowned. "Why did you never tell me this before?"

She sighed as they saddled up Stormbreaker. "Because Mother assured me that she would track it down."

"What is this 'Chalice'?" Brynjolf asked.

"An ancient Daedric artifact that bolsters our vampiric powers, especially for vampire lords. In this case, if Vingalmo took blood samples from each of those people and combined them in the Chalice, he could've been influencing them from halfway across Skyrim."

"Which," Ketar said, "if you're right and he's waiting near the Ancestor Glade, makes sense."

Serana nodded.

"Then what's to stop him from trying again?" asked Brynjolf.

"Well, for one," Kay replied, "she broke his hold over them. I've seen it before."

"True," Serana said, "but not permanently. Ordinarily, it would be, but with the Chalice, so long as he has their blood, he can still try to reestablish his connection. Still, the psychic backlash from what I just did should discourage any further attempts."

"And Lydia?" asked Bryn worriedly.

Serana's eyes narrowed as Ketar offered her a hand up to Stormbreaker's back. "Vingalmo won't do anything to risk an audience with me. He'll play nice as long as I play to his ego."

Brynjolf snorted. "Shouldn't be _too_ difficult."

Sera scowled. "On the contrary. I'm getting nauseous just _thinking_ about it."

Ketar frowned. "Right now, Lydia's not what I'm worried about."

Bryn shot him a look.

He sighed. "Listen. Sera, when he…when this started, you said he took enough blood to turn a few others."

"Six, at most," she confirmed.

"So, worst-case scenario, it's the three of us against seven vampire lords."

Brynjolf frowned. "Even if they are unseasoned whelps, I don't fancy those odds."

"Neither do I," Serana admitted. "Which is why I'm calling my mother for help."

Ketar arched an eyebrow at her. "You can do that?"

"The same way my father could feel her through their blood bond, I can too. With time and practice, I can also use that connection to communicate with her telepathically."

He frowned. "Then why didn't you use that to contact her when we were trying to find her?"

"I tried. Guess even our blood connection wasn't strong enough to pass between dimensions."

Ketar grunted absently.

Behind them, on his own horse, Brynjolf frowned deeply. "Ketar, if Maven really is working with Vingalmo, this could be a play to bust her out."

He blinked. "Agreed. Contact Karliah. Tell her to grab Mjoll and Irileth—"

"And guard Maven's cell," Brynjolf supplied.

Ketar nodded. "Tell them not to let anyone else through. No one, understand?"

He nodded. "Right. Compulsion. I'm on it."

Kay turned to look at Sera. "Valerica plus us makes four. Still feels pretty uneven."

Serana snorted. "Please. She may be a little out of practice, but she's easily worth at least three of those fools. So are you, for that matter."

"Probably, but all the same, you told me yourself that Vingalmo has a talent for manipulation. I have no intentions of making this a fair fight."

She frowned. "What did you have in mind?"

His lips pursed, and he looked toward the sky, calling on a familiar power. " _Grohiikviing_!"

A few minutes after his Voice carried through the air, a large black bird descended from the sky and landed talons-first on his leather gauntlet. Frowning, Ketar scribbled on a thin slip of paper before rolling it up and tucking it into a pouch at the raven's hip. He whispered something in its ear, then cast it off, whereupon it flew off in a slightly southeastern direction.

Serana arched an eyebrow at the side of his head. "Want to fill the rest of us in?"

"I just sent that raven to a farm south of Whiterun."

Her eyes widened. "Agmaer."

Ketar smirked. "Figured he'd want to get in on this, with everything that's happened."

"…not a bad call."

Ketar had had no idea just how right he was when he'd said Agmaer was the best the Dawnguard had to offer. After the Battle of Castle Volkihar, he'd stepped up in the organization in a big way, working to consolidate their resources and hunt down Harkon's remaining lieutenants. His work had been so efficient and effective that Isran had basically emptied Fort Dawnguard after about a month. Not because they were spread thin, but because they simply weren't needed on call anymore. Instead, once they were trained, he sent them back home, each returning to their respective corner of Skyrim to live their lives while maintaining a constant vigil should the undead return. Vingalmo finally making his play definitely qualified, and though normally this was a situation that would require the entire Dawnguard to deal with, Ketar had other ideas.

Vingalmo may have been the greatest vampire threat to Skyrim, but after what he did to Serana, this fight was personal. And Agmaer would undoubtedly agree once he got Ketar's message. He just hoped the boy got there in time, because if Ketar had his way first, there wouldn't be much left.

…

Of the people in Serana and Ketar's immediate circle of influence, only a handful were made aware of why she had those scars on her neck. Really, only those who were likely to engage in the vivisection of that Altmer piece of filth were told the full story. So, naturally, Valerica was one. Serana's mother found out during her daughter's visit to the castle, well over a month after the fact. She was…displeased that it had taken Serana so long to tell her, though her reaction had been a great deal more tempered than Ketar's, and certainly more so than Lydia's. Still, it had been blatantly obvious that she was simply keeping her rage in, letting it marinate and build in the wait, so that when the time came, nothing would stop her from avenging her daughter.

Likewise, Agmaer had also been informed, though with significant reluctance on Ketar's part. Serana had insisted on it, however, and though Agmaer's previous feelings were unrequited, his end still functioned to make his outrage every bit as palpable. Though honestly, there was a great deal more sadness and pity than rage, even if he'd pretty much steamed through the entire tale. Nevertheless, he'd agreed to be on call and ready to move if Vingalmo reared his ugly head again, and with that tri-barrel Dwarven crossbow of his, they would definitely have the range advantage on these fiends. Assuming he got there in time, of course.

At a heavy canter, Stormbreaker got them halfway to the Ancestor Glade before half an hour had passed, and as they approached the sacred site, the winter sun was just starting to drift close to the western peaks of the Jerall Mountains. It wasn't quite sunset, but in a few minutes (on their side of the mountains, at least), there would still be enough lack of sunlight to allow any vampire to retain their full strength. Which, of course, was great for Serana. Not so great for the two humans that were accompanying her. However, like Maven (if not more so), Ketar felt it was important for him to enjoy what came next, and being able to just roll over his enemies on this particular day would not be even remotely satisfying.

From about five miles out from the Glade, Ketar's face had been twisted into a deep frown as he fell utterly silent. He could still remember that day in his mind, very, very clearly.

...

 _"Easy, boy. What's wrong?"_

 _Serana's jaw tightened on his right. "That."_

 _Ketar turned to see what she was talking about, seeing a cluster of vampires exiting a far clearing with weapons drawn. He glanced at Sera. "Get on," he said, mounting Stormbreaker._

 _She frowned and looked up at him. "No, you go."_

 _Ketar stared at her._

 _"Stormbreaker won't be able to outrun them, not with both of us on his back."_

 _"Sera, what did I say about fighting alo—"_

 _"We won't be fighting alone, running alone. If we split them up, they won't be able to chase us as effectively."_

 _"And if they catch one of us—"_

 _"They won't," she insisted, gripping his hand tightly. Serana smirked. "Not even you could, remember?"_

 _Ketar gave her a deadpan look before going dead serious, lips pursed tightly. "Be careful, Sera."_

…

Two months later, he still remembered every detail of that moment. When he'd looked her in the eyes, a woman he already loved, but just couldn't admit it to, and left her behind to fend for herself. To that day, he still couldn't understand why he'd ever said yes. They could've stayed and fought. He could've called Durnehviir to rain hell down on them from above, called down a storm, he could've—

The possibilities, the outcomes and "what ifs," were utterly endless. The time since then had given Ketar new respect for his father. Just looking back on that one moment and its choices ran him in circles until he was about out of his mind. Akatosh had all of _time_ to consider and reflect on. As chief deity of the Nine Divines, Akatosh was seen as the most powerful of the Aedra, and with the power of time at his command, his position was perhaps the most coveted of all. Ketar knew better. If he had to stare at the timeline of such utter misery that Tamriel had endured, knowing all the while that he couldn't reach down and change a thing, but work through fallible, corruptible beings…he'd have gone mad within days, even hours.

For all his complaints about needing rest, Ketar would take being mortal and in the thick of things over being immortal and above it all any day of the week. And speaking of thick, they were currently heading into a very thick fog that had fallen over the Jerall Mountains and was currently concealing a great deal of their already-difficult-to-see surroundings. Frowning, Ketar mentally debated something before deciding that against seven enhanced vampires, they weren't going to make their approach undetected.

" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

His Voice boomed and echoed across the slopes of the mountains, the fog before them billowing thickly as it rapidly dispersed, leaving only the gradually deepening cover of darkness to impede their vision. Another breath was inhaled and Spoken.

" _Laas-Yah-Nir_."

Ketar's vision altered and faded to a sort of grayscale as his eyes narrowed in search of any telltale red glows. In their immediate area, only four or five were present, but most of those were horizontal, and too far off the ground to be undead death hounds. The one that wasn't was inside the Ancestor Glade proper, in the very center of the catacombs, if he'd had to guess based on its size and position. His jaw tightened as the glows faded from his vision, fingers twitching in strangling motions without him even noticing.

He turned his head to look back at the others. "Only one that I can detect, but that doesn't rule out gargoyles."

"Eh?" Brynjolf grunted.

"Their stone skin masks them from detection when they're inactive," Sera explained.

"Ah. Got it. I'll keep an eye out."

Ketar nodded and dismounted Stormbreaker, likewise helping Serana off his back and turning toward the cave entrance to the Glade. His hand went up to the hilt of his sword, perching there with his fingers wrapping around its ebony surface. The sapphires in the ring on his right hand and the pommel of Dragonborn's Fury began to glow as he unconsciously focused his magical power.

"Kay, please," Serana said, "don't do anything rash."

He glanced back at her, eyes stormy.

"I _know_ , okay? But…this isn't a situation where we hold all the cards. If we want Lydia back, we'll have to play his game…for now."

Ketar faced the cave and sighed hard, fingers detangling themselves from his sword-hilt with some effort. "I know. But I'm still going in first."

She snorted a laugh. "That's fair."

Ketar pushed into the cave ahead of Serana, Brynjolf bringing up their rearguard and scanning their surroundings for movement. They climbed the same toppled, mossed-over tree as last time, making their way into the large half-sphere of the Ancestor Glade. Memories of his last time here hit Ketar as his eyes automatically went to the center of the room and the altar holding the Moth Priests' draw knife. Next to it, just off the middle of the room and a bright beam of sunlight, with his hand held inside it, was an all-too-familiar High Elf with pale yellow skin. The trio remained perched on the high ground for several seconds, the room silent save for the ever-present buzzing of Elder Moths.

"It's strange now, walking in sunlight."

Ketar stiffened at the sound of Vingalmo's voice.

"Before, my blood would boil if I so much as stepped into daylight, even when overcast. Now…" he turned to them, golden eyes burning, "even the sun poses no threat to me."

Ketar's upper lip twitched as he smiled threateningly. "I can give you a closer look and see if you still believe that."

"Kay," Serana warned with a hand on his arm.

Vingalmo noticed and smirked at this. "Yes, Kay, that's right. The adults are talking."

" _You_ ," she interrupted sharply, "shut up and tell us where Lydia is."

He waved his arms out to the sides. "Oh, certainly. I care not for the mortal. I just needed a way to get you here that would require less…sacrifice."

She snarled. "You mean less _self_ -sacrifice. You were perfectly willing to kill all those people in Whiterun."

"Oh, Serana, you of all people should know those people don't matter. They're flawed, finite. Mortal." He waved at Ketar. "Like your whipped little pet here. Fifty, sixty years—perhaps less—and he'll be a shriveled old man, neither vigorous nor attractive. Did you even _consider_ that when you decided to give up your birthright for him?"

Serana's jaw tightened as she exchanged a look with Ketar. "I did." She turned back to Vingalmo. "And I decided it doesn't matter. Better to live a few decades in happiness than an eternity alone."

Vingalmo smiled. "You wouldn't have to be alone, my dear."

Sera bared her teeth. "When are you going to get it _through your head_?! I do not want you. I would _never_ want you. _Ever_!"

His eyes narrowed. "Give it a couple centuries. You'll think differently."

She laughed darkly. "Oh, why do I even bother? I can't believe I'm debating this with a corpse."

"I'm not dead, Serana. No matter how much you may think you want that."

"Not _yet_ ," Brynjolf snarled.

Vingalmo blinked a few times before cocking his head in confusion. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"A friend of the woman you took," he replied sharply. "Who is getting awfully impatient for you to hand her over."

The vampiric Elf sighed and waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, as you wish. She's some way from here, at a cabin near the top of the mountain to the west. You may retrieve her at your leisure." His gaze sharpened. "But Serana stays here. After all, we have a great deal to talk about."

Ketar stepped toward him threateningly. "Out of the question!"

"Do it, or I send word to my acolytes to slit her throat."

Ketar started to see red as his right hand shot to the hilt of Dragonborn's Fury. A lithe hand caught his before it could get halfway there, and he turned to see Serana's grip tight on his wrist, her eyes locked onto Vingalmo.

Ketar blinked. "Serana?"

"Go," she said without moving her gaze from the Elf. "He's right." The lower half of her fangs showed as she smiled nastily. "We have _so_ much to discuss."

"Sera—"

Her gaze locked with his, cutting him off abruptly. "Find her, Kay. I've got this. Trust me."

Ketar stared into her eyes for a while, mind flashing to another day and another circumstance. Every trace of fear and instinct told him to stay and help her fight, but that would leave Brynjolf to rescue Lydia from six vampire lords—alone. And this time, there was something…different about the way she looked at him. A fire behind those burning eyes he'd only witnessed once before.

When Serana stepped between him and her deranged father.

And even then, it had never been this intense. With a clench of his jaw and a fierce kiss, he drew away from her with a small nod, heading for the exit with a confused Brynjolf behind him. He stopped in the doorway to look over his shoulder.

"Sera."

Her head twitched to the side.

"I love you."

Even from behind, he could see her smile. "I love you too."

"You come back to me, understand?"

"Understood, love."

"And Sera?"

A sigh. "Yes?"

Ketar's face and voice darkened. "Rip him apart."

She grinned outright, all teeth and fangs. "Yes, my love."

…

Vingalmo's face as Ketar and Brynjolf left the Glade was a study in pure disgust. He actually shuddered once they were out of sight.

"Honestly," he said, "I don't understand how you could possibly tolerate them. Not only is Dov not a vampire, but human as well."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Serana replied coldly. "You were a fool when I knew you before. You're a fool now, and a greedy one at that." A mocking smile split her face. "A gnat who fancied himself a king."

"Tell me, Serana, what difference is there between you and me? Those 'innocent' people you accused me of trying to kill were ordered to obey my commands, and you call me a monster. You do the same with your Breton pet, and it's fine."

Serana scowled. "The difference is those people were forced to do your bidding. Ketar _chose_ to listen to me. My relationship with him is built on trust. Your relationships, if you could even _call_ them that, are built on fear and a hierarchy of power." She smiled malevolently, slowly drawing her Elven dagger from its sheath. "And that's why you're going to lose."

Vingalmo's eyes flickered to her weapon as he smirked and drew an ornate Elven axe from the right of his belt and a shortsword of the same make from his left. "We shall see."

A few moments of quiet passed before the whirring of displaced air split the silence as Serana's cloaked form leapt from the cliff and Vingalmo lunged to meet her.

…

As soon as they left the cave, Brynjolf grabbed Ketar's arm and yanked him so they were facing each other.

"I don't mean to tell you how to take care of your woman, Ketar, but are you _mad_?!"

Ketar blinked and stared back at him.

Brynjolf pointed back at the cave. "Leaving her alone with him—last time she faced that monster by herself—"

"I _know_ , Bryn." His jaw clenched. "I still remember every detail of that day."

"Then why—"

"Because Lydia needs us. And because…" his dark blue eyes narrowed at the ground, "because I knew the look in her eyes." His gaze shifted to Brynjolf. "This is something she has to do herself. It's not just a matter of vengeance, but her vampiric honor. No matter how much I may want to flay that son of a bitch alive, she's the only one who can regain the dignity he took from her. Last time, she was outnumbered eight to one. This time, it's just him and her. _We're_ the ones who are outnumbered. With that in mind, we need to stay focused on finding Lydia, or they'll outmaneuver and overwhelm us in seconds."

Brynjolf frowned, but nodded after a while.

Ketar turned toward the slopes of the Jerall Mountains, taking a deep breath, then taking off at a run.

…

Despite all the action she'd been a part of over the last two months, Serana could count on probably one hand the number of times she'd actually had to draw a weapon since Volkihar. After seeing her two-handed sword-dagger style in action against her father, Ketar had taken it upon himself to find a way to further optimize the effectiveness of her fighting technique by modifying her weapons. Specifically, re-forging her curved Elven dagger into something more resembling of a stiletto, with an S-shaped cross-guard and a thinner, double-edged blade razor-sharp on the front edge and of the same sharpness about a third of the way from the tip to the hilt on the back edge.

Being that she'd only used it a handful of times so far, Serana couldn't yet say she was accustomed to the way the air flowed around the dagger. That is, so easily that she could hardly tell the weapon was there, as if it were merely an extension of her arm. She really had to give Ketar credit. He knew how to pick his smiths. If she'd still had her inheritance as heir of the Volkihar Clan, she'd have patronized Eorlund Gray-Mane months ago, after he re-forged her basket-hilted sword. Still, between the Companions, Whiterun's guards, and Ketar's not-inconsiderable wealth (which he still wouldn't give her the numbers on); the old smith was certainly not lacking for patrons or coin.

At the moment, however, Serana had slightly more important things to worry about, so she decided to give Eorlund her sincerest thanks as soon as they returned to Whiterun—after she finished beating seven shades of shit out of Vingalmo. With only her stiletto to counter Vingalmo's axe and shortsword, Serana was mostly on the defensive, but that in no way meant she was struggling to keep up. On the contrary, despite his now-purified vampire blood, Vingalmo was almost— _almost_ on her level instead of being so laughably slow he might as well have been standing still. Several rapid horizontal strikes from opposite sides were dodged or deflected with the blunt back edge of Serana's underhanded dagger before she ducked under simultaneous swipes from either side and twirled the knife into a stabbing position, lunging toward Vingalmo's heart.

Fast as lightning, the Altmer vampire jerked his body away from her and swiped his weapons in opposing arcs perpendicular to her thrust, the sudden impact catching the dagger just in front of the cross-guard and snapping the weapon from her grip. While it spun midair, Serana saw his chest exposed and lunged forward with a vicious snap-kick that sent him flying off his feet into a backward tumble. She caught her dagger in her left hand and swiped it down and left, cutting the air with an audible whoosh and holding the weapon at hip level, pointed diagonally down. The moment Vingalmo was on his two feet again, he started laughing.

"Good!" he shouted. "Very good! For a moment I'd feared your time with that mortal had dulled your skills. I'm very glad to see I was wrong."

Serana snarled. "That 'mortal' slew _Harkon_. I couldn't dull around him if I tried. Your disdain for Ketar will be your downfall if you keep underestimating him."

He grinned wildly. "Oh believe me, I haven't."

Her eyes widened in sudden fear. "What did you do?"

Vingalmo just smiled wider.

…

The climb to the top of the mountain Vingalmo had indicated was harrowing but not overly difficult. At least, not for two master thieves who'd spent a great deal of their time climbing into houses and fortresses for a score. The thin mountain air had posed some difficulty, but with the right pacing and route, they reached a tall plateau near the peak without being too winded. And saw a brown log cabin several dozen feet above them, on a path that snaked around the peak's edge. There were lights on the inside, visible from the small windows, but no forms or silhouettes could be seen from that far away.

" _Laas-Yah-Nir_."

Two living presences were revealed by the Dragonborn's Aura Whisper, one's energy scrunched up into a small area (indicating a sitting position), the other standing next to it.

Ketar and Brynjolf exchanged a look and nod before splitting off, Bryn taking the path, Ketar making for an alternate, more direct route that led up a steep rock surface. He pulled Zephyr from the back of his belt, the Dwarven bow expanding to its full form with a series of quiet clanks as he pulled an ebony arrow from his quiver and touched its shaft with his left hand's index and middle finger. A magical tether formed between the bow and the nocked arrow as he drew it back and fired. The missile anchored its razor-sharp head to the roof of the cabin with a dull thud, and a gesture with Ketar's bow hand caused the magic cable to begin retracting as he ran up the rocky incline.

As a result, he and Brynjolf reached the top around the same time, the other Nightingale holding only an ebony dagger as he exchanged a look with Ketar before slowly pushing the door open. Ketar likewise leapt in through a window on the opposite side of the edifice, breaking the glass and drawing back an arrow as his boots hit the ground. What greeted them on the other side was an empty cabin, completely devoid of life. What it did have, however, was a whole mess of barrels, one of which was leaking thick, black oil all over the floor. Ketar's eyes widened as he realized their mistake, and a thin cable linked to the entrance door snapped as a tenuously-mounted torch fell toward the oil.

…

A loud _boom_ shook the mountainside as Serana's head snapped toward the hole in the Glade's roof to see a pillar of thick black smoke rising from somewhere in the distance. Her eyes widened in horror as her mouth dropped open, panic quickly rising within.

"As I said before…"

She slowly dragged her gaze to a gloating Vingalmo.

"…finite and flawed."

The fire in her eyes smoldered and burned as rage built deep in her gut, the grip around her dagger tightening as she reached to her left hip with her right hand and slowly drew her ebony basket-hilt, angling its tip toward him.

"They're not the only ones," she growled. "You may be older, and more experienced, but you're _far_ from perfect." They slowly paced around each other, her blade held aggressively. "You think my blood shores up the gaping holes in who and what you are?" She snorted. "Despite his mortality, that man has the balls and drive to go further than you _ever_ could. Because Ketar carries something you'll never have, or even _understand_ : love. You put someone he loves in danger, Vingalmo, and that was your biggest mistake." She smiled malevolently. "See, he won't _allow_ himself to die until she's out of danger." Her upper lip curled into a snarl. "And you're nothing more than a steaming pile of ash."

She twirled her sword in a lazy figure-eight, then braced it against her side and coiled her body up, lunging toward Vingalmo to meet his weapons with hers in a loud clash of metal. Their weapons locked together, her underhanded dagger stopping his axe and sword entangled with his.

Vingalmo's teeth bared as they struggled against each other. "Cast aside your human façade, Serana. Let us fight this battle as _gods_! As we were always meant to be!"

He pushed her off and dashed away, his body engulfed in darkness as she witnessed him transform for the first time. The final product was gray, leathery skin, but with a slight yellow tinge to it, and sparse Elven armor over his forearms, thighs, and vital organs. His wings spread out around him as he roared in exhilaration, teeth baring in an inhuman grin as his burning eyes locked onto hers.

"Show me your power!"

Serana bared her fangs and lunged toward him in human form, leaping toward his hovering form as her body was engulfed in darkness. A vicious, inhuman roar came from her throat as her transformed body emerged from the darkness and tackled Vingalmo through the air, her powerful wings carrying them through the hole in the ceiling and out into the open air.

…

From a position two dozen feet off the ground, Lydia's bound and gagged form watched in horror as the cabin that had served as her prison was engulfed in a gigantic explosion of fire just moments after the two men who mattered most to her leapt inside. The intermittent flapping of leathery wings behind her filled her ears as she tried to peer through the smoke, scanning for any signs of movement. The vampire lord currently holding her was looking just as intently, and about to turn away ten seconds after the explosion when suddenly, part of the billowing black smoke started to shift.

Seconds later, the fading sunlight revealed a thin lane of smoke billowing outward, two midnight-black forms leaping from its depths and running straight toward them. Both were in full Nightingale armor, though one had his mask off. The sight of his face alone sent her heart soaring, especially when she saw and felt his piercing blue eyes lock onto her.

…

Ketar's unhooded form ran toward the edge of the mountain as the vampire lord holding Lydia turned and started flying down and away from them. He glanced back at Brynjolf, who waved toward their airborne objective.

"Go!" he shouted. "I'll catch up!"

Ketar nodded and took off toward the path, sprinting as hard as he could as his Dragonborn physiology was pushed to the limit. As a result, Brynjolf was quickly left in the dust while Ketar practically flew down the mountain and ran across the rocky plateau, several large boulders in his path. He quickly climbed and vaulted over one of them, launching himself into motion and rolling as he kept up his pace without missing a step. A tall cluster of rocks just ahead gave him an idea, and he jumped from one to the next, rising steadily until he closed just enough distance between him and the vampire, then snapped his right hand forward and cast a magical cable that coiled around its right ankle.

As gravity pulled him back down to Nirn, he felt himself yanked forward as soon as his feet touched the ground, his boots trying to plant in the rough rock surface as the vampire kept flying away. The tether kept pulling him along as he held it with both hands, Ketar unable to find enough purchase on the ground to stop or even slow them as his boots scuffed against the rocky plateau, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. In a rapid flurry of thought and decision, Ketar snapped his left hand out behind him and threw another magical tether that anchored him to the plateau as his feet drew within four feet of a deadly drop. All three of them stopped abruptly, but only the Dragonborn felt like his arms were about to be torn from their sockets.

Pain lanced through his body as he felt his ligaments and tendons stretched to their limit, head and eyes whipping about spastically as he tried to find some leverage. Brynjolf was still trying to catch up, Lydia was bound and helpless, and the vampire was only flapping its wings harder in an attempt to get away. If he could link the two tethers together, he could use the ground as an anchor to reel them in, but his arms were stretched to the limit and barely responding. If he let go and tried to create another anchor, he ran the almost-certain risk that he'd be yanked off the edge of the plateau and into a deadly fall. Several hard breaths were taken and exhaled as Ketar's teeth gritted and his right hand twisted and curled its tether into a second loop in his grip, his overtaxed muscles and connective tissue stressing and straining as he did the last thing any of them would've expected.

He started pulling back.

Ketar's biceps and pectorals flexed madly as his body screamed in protest. Every stab and burn of pain was ignored and overcome, his head and body shaking with effort as he effectively bicep curled over four hundred pounds of flesh, bone, and armor. A ferocious, inhuman roar built in his chest and released as he started gaining ground, splitting the evening air. In moments, the two tethers were inches away from each other, but the resistance was tougher than ever, and he just couldn't seem to make that last push.

Suddenly, the _twang_ of a metallic bowstring reached his ears, and the vampire's left wing sprouted a new addition in the form of a gold Dwarven bolt. The disruption to its flight pattern completely ended the resistance from that end, allowing Ketar to link the tethers and rapidly contract them with a touch of magic as he used both hands to pull down. The combination of reeling and his downward yank resulted in the rapid descent and crash of the vampire and its captive into the plateau. Lydia, despite her bound condition, had somehow managed to make sure it hit the ground first.

Ketar, for his part, had half-collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily and trying to recover as a shadow fell over him from the side. A gauntleted hand was stuck in his face a moment later, and he looked up to see the silhouette of an armored form standing over him.

"Sorry I'm late," the form said.

Ketar grinned. "Far as I can see, you're right on time."

Smiling, he took Agmaer's hand and stood up, giving the young man a nod, then turning toward Lydia, who was pushing herself off the recovering vampire and trying to make her way to them. Before either Ketar or Agmaer could even try to move toward her, a black blur sped past them and tackled her armored body into the air.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? If they even _touched_ you, I'm going to peel them like overripe bananas!"

Ketar and Agmaer blinked and stared blankly at a frenzied, now-unmasked Brynjolf as he looked Lydia up and down, from every angle imaginable, as the Nord woman rolled her eyes and tried to remove her gag. His rapid motion and intense inspection impeded this, however, until she grunted loudly behind the rag, and he realized his mistake. Once the gag was finally removed, Lydia took a loud gulp of air and punched Brynjolf in the arm. Hard.

"I'm _fine_ ," she half-whined. "Apart from the crash, I'm not hurt, just a few bruises. And _obviously_ they touched me—they _carried_ me, remember?"

Brynjolf blinked a few times before deflating. "Oh. Right."

Agmaer looked between Brynjolf and Ketar. "Am I missing something?"

The Breton shook his head slowly. "Trust me—totally asking myself that same question."

"…oh, you mean with them."

Ketar shot Agmaer a look. "What did _you_ mean?"

The blond Nord repeatedly poked his Nightingale armor with his right index.

"Ugh," Ketar grunted as he brushed Agmaer's hand off, "one problem at a time."

And indeed, they were about to have a few problems, especially considering that the vampire Agmaer had shot down was finally getting up, claws scraping against each other as its fangs bared savagely. Ketar's fingers interlaced and flattened against each other, moving apart vertically and shifting in a circular motion as magical energy filled the air, forming a golden sundial whose center flared with light. A sword made of gold metal and holy light emerged from the depths of his rift, gripped underhandedly by the hilt as he turned to his housecarl.

"Lydia," he called, tossing Dawnbreaker to her.

She spun around and caught Meridia's blade by the hilt, holding it two-handedly at her side, blade pointed outward as she and the others faced off with the vampire lord.

"Four on one, mate," Brynjolf said with a smile. "Not so great odds."

The high undead drew itself up to full height and grinned widely. "Oh," it said, voice echoing unnaturally, "just wait for it."

And right on cue, five more gray-skinned forms with black claws and leathery wings descended from above and boxed them in. Lydia and Ketar went back-to-back, Dragonborn's Fury leaving its sheath as they faced outward. Brynjolf and Agmaer likewise paired up, the latter's tri-barrel Dwarven crossbow reloaded and held at the ready as the master thief pulled up his hood and twirled his ebony dagger into an underhanded stance. Six inhuman roars split the evening air, the fledgling vampire lords surging forward as one as Ketar unleashed the power of his Voice.

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

A massive flare of light erupted from Ketar's body, the eyes of every single vampire drawn to him as they stopped in their tracks. Glowing, almost flaming blue and gold ethereal constructs grafted themselves to every inch of his body. Glowing horns floated just off the surface of his head, with dragon scales layered over his chest, arms, and legs. A short, glowing tail stemmed from his lower back, and his eyes were alight with golden fire. The overall effect of Akatosh's gift gave him the appearance of a walking, bipedal dragon as an armor shell. His sword was likewise engulfed in ethereal flames, its sapphire burning bright as the sun. A malevolent, feral grin split his face as he dragged the tip of his sword across the ground in front of him, cutting a thin arc through the rock as he sized up his now-uncertain enemies.

The first time he'd tested his gift, his Dragon Aspect, he'd been traveling alone in the mountains near Ivarstead, around the time Serana had visited her mother. He'd received a summons from Jarl Balgruuf indicating a marauding dragon was active in the region, terrorizing and preying on a few settlements in the snow-capped mountains near the Throat of the World. The better part of a week was spent looking for it, but in the end, it had come to him, and he'd confronted it mid-attack in a small mountain village practically devoid of life. People had become so afraid of the horrors of dragon attacks that most had moved out, and few travelers ever had the misfortune of stumbling into the town.

Within a matter of _seconds_ —not minutes—seconds, he brought the wyrm to its knees and slew it, and that was without use of his gift. Apparently, this dragon was a bully at heart, perfectly fine with attacking helpless civilians, but of little use against someone capable of actually fighting back. He'd confronted his share of those in his time, certainly, but very few in dragon form. Regardless, he'd slain the dragon and helped the townspeople haul its skeletal carcass out of the town square once he'd absorbed its power, then had to refuse any sort of reward from sixteen different people because A: he already had a pending bounty from the Jarl, and B: he was filthy freaking rich. What business did he have taking their hard-earned gold?

Point of fact, he gave them everything the dragon had on it—which was considerable taking into account how much it had stolen over the past few weeks. Anyhow, the second objective he'd had going that far east was to pay a visit to his friends in High Hrothgar, the Greybeards, and use his new "gift" in a safe, controlled environment. After all, Akatosh hadn't exactly been specific when he told Ketar what it was. When he finally climbed the seven thousand steps, they'd been overjoyed to see him. Well, Arngeir had. The others, as usual, hadn't spoken a word to him, but from their expressions, he could tell they were excited in their own way.

The results of his first trial were… _astonishing_. Massively increased strength, speed, reflexes, and durability. And that was just on the physical side. Thus far, he'd been capable of using his Shouts to far greater effect, more often, and without nearly as much physical strain. The downside…well…the moment it ended, about five minutes after it began, Ketar had experienced an _instant_ hangover, soooo much worse than his first (and thus far only) time binge drinking with the Companions. The Greybeards had had to help him recover for a full day after that particular bout.

Then, he tried it again.

And every time he had, he came down with a massive headache and disorientation, but each time lesser than before, as if his body were slowly getting used to it. Arngeir was, quite frankly, shocked as hell about the whole situation, as were the rest of his order, who had never even _seen_ such a thing. Ketar supposed that came from the Shout being one exclusive to the Dragonborn, and not capable of use by anyone else. At any rate, since that expedition, Ketar had made a point of practicing that Shout nearly every day, steadily building up a tolerance for its adverse aftereffects until he could actually trigger it twice a day without outright passing out like he did the first time.

Though showing any weakness to creatures as powerful as vampire lords was a surefire way to get killed, the fact was, they were outnumbered, and the last time he went up against one of their kind, it almost ended _very_ badly. So, same as they pulled out all the stops with their enhanced undead physiology, he unleashed the full power of his dragon blood. And he said as much.

"You showed me yours…now I've shown you mine." Ketar held his hands out to his sides, sword spinning and twirling into a two-handed ready stance. "Shall we?"

…

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

Serana's transformed head turned toward the source of the booming voice, a smile coming to her lips as she whirled back toward Vingalmo, who was lunging forward with two midair swipes from his weapons. She flapped her wings hard, the air currents catapulting her up into the air as she performed a backward somersault to avoid his attack and counter with a sword-thrust to the chest. He switched his short sword to an underhanded grip and used it as a buckler to bash her strike aside and open her up to a cleaving axe-strike aimed at her left wing. She folded her wings into her back and let Vingalmo's axe fly past her shoulder as her left hand stabbed toward his arm, the Elven blade perforating his bicep and causing him to growl in pain.

He tried to hit her in the chin with the pommel of his short sword, but Serana beat him to it when she whipped hers across the side of his jaw. Sera tried to follow the strike up with a vicious horizontal strike that would've cleaved his head off, but Vingalmo ducked it and used her wings' inactive state to tackle her through the air without much resistance. She kneed him in the gut, then used the dagger still in his right arm as an anchor point to pivot and throw him behind her. Serana's wings unfurled and sent her careening blades-first into his chest, both driven below his rib cage up to the hilt.

Vingalmo shrieked in agony as he was dragged down to Nirn, but Serana found herself thrown off when he dropped his short sword and used a telekinetic spell to hurl her sideways. The blades left his body with the motion, dark ichor flying from his wounds as he stretched out that same hand with a different spell, this one sending arcs of red energy toward her. Serana dove toward the ground, deftly dodging his drain spell and lining up another airborne lunge that should have ensured a perfect shot at his heart. Instead, he anticipated her attack and dodged just far enough to the side for her blades to miss his body while bringing his axe down toward her head hard.

As fate would have it, his blow landed more than true.

As a point of fact, it caved in so deep, Serana suddenly found herself unable to see out of her left eye and so dazed that she didn't realize she was in freefall until it was almost too late. Her wings spread out as far as they could go, catching as much drag as possible to slow her down, but she was still moving too fast when she reached ground level. With a massive groan, she tucked her wings in and rolled her large yet lithe body on impact with the ground, rapidly barrel-rolling across the rocky terrain until she came to a stop, face-down, battered, and bloody. Another altered groan left her lips as she slowly pushed herself upright, head snapping up just in time to see Vingalmo's armored form streak in and take another swing at her head.

Serana pivoted her body to the side just in time for his strike to miss its target, but it clipped her right shoulder instead, causing her to drop her sword and dash away from him. Clutching her injured shoulder, Serana extended her claws fully and stayed crouched, low to the ground as her vampiric physiology rapidly healed her wounds. She regained vision in her blocked eye a few moments later, just in time to see Vingalmo flying toward her again, axe swinging wildly. Serana backpedaled rapidly, his strikes missing her by narrow margins, then waited until he lunged for her and exploded into a swarm of bats and re-formed behind him. The talons of both hands stabbed toward his back, but she found her right arm sliced open when he pivoted and slashed the edge of his axe across her forearm.

Growling in rage and frustration more than pain, Serana dropped to her knees and twirled counterclockwise under his next strike, slashing her right-hand claws across his leg and following it up with a left-handed thrust to his gut. He grabbed her lunging wrist and tossed it aside, only to find himself thrown back when her right hand delivered a kinetic bolt to his chest that massively dented the armor there. With Vingalmo stumbling back, Serana used a telekinetic manipulation to recall her sword, then lunged for him with a leaping stab to the neck. His axe-shaft batted her blade aside, but Serana kept up the pressure, sword and claws relentlessly battering away at his defenses as he withdrew by the step.

Serana jumped and delivered a powerful overhead strike with one hand while her left dipped below and tried to claw out his neck. Vingalmo stopped the sword with his axe and snapped his neck away from her claws, barely managing to avoid being struck on both counts and countering by planting his taloned left foot in her lower chest. The impact alone sent her flying away from him, but then he made things _so_ much worse.

When he dug his talons in.

The drastic contrast between her backward motion and the forward yank of Vingalmo's talons ended up tearing off a large section of her skin and the flesh underneath. Serana couldn't even shriek. All the air rushed from her lungs as she collapsed to the ground, gasping wildly as she tried to at least stand. Several sharp coughs left her body along with bloody saliva and the outflow from the gaping hole in her lower chest. She barely got a moment to recover before she was bowled over and shoved onto her back, her arms struggling wildly against Vingalmo's weight as he pinned her to the ground. Her fangs bared viciously as she tried to take a snap at his face, the transformed Elf laughing cruelly.

"Struggle all you want, my dear."

He pinned her weakened arms to the ground with one hand around her wrists, then used the other hand to pull her neck to one side. A knee was driven into Vingalmo's lower ribs hard, cracking something for sure, but the unhinged vampire just laughed maniacally.

Vingalmo grinned as his fangs descended toward her neck. "Your resistance just makes this all the sweeter."

It was at _this_ point that Serana began to panic. Not that he was once again about to take her blood. That was hardly her primary concern at the moment. It was what would happen once he took her blood. She remembered the last time quite vividly: stumbling across Skyrim half-dead, half-unconscious, barely able to even stand. She'd be utterly useless to _anyone_ in that state, and with Ketar's dragon blood in her, she'd make Vingalmo even stronger—and add another vampire lord to the cluster currently fighting him and the others. And that, more than absolutely _anything_ , pissed—her—off.

Serana took a deep breath, calming and focusing her energy as she channeled power from within…

And vanished from Vingalmo's grip a split-second before he sank his fangs into her neck. His jaws clamped shut with an audible click as they met nothing but air—or, rather, _mist_. Vingalmo's glowing eyes went double-wide when a thick, pale gray mist flowed around his body and behind him, rolling over Serana's fallen weapons and causing them to vanish within as it billowed past. Some twenty feet away from Vingalmo, the mist began condensing and slowly but surely re-formed into a seven-foot vampire lord with eyes the color of the sunset—Serana, fully regenerated and holding her weapons while smiling like a devil.

For the first time in the fight, the vampiric Elf looked…uncertain, for lack of a better word. Still, he was nothing if not determined, so as soon as he got over his initial shock, he twirled his axe and lunged forward, managing to half-tackle Serana to the ground before she threw one leg back and knelt to give herself more leverage. Still, her talons gave off a high-pitched screeching noise as she skidded across the rocky ground, Vingalmo using his greater weight to steadily push her back. Well, until something slammed into him from the side. Or, rather, a whole lot of something.

It took Serana a few moments to realize what had happened, and when she did, she felt an unstoppable rumble of laughter stir in her chest. A thick swarm of jet-black bats engulfed and bowled Vingalmo over, lifting him twenty feet into the air, then slamming him down into the rocks hard as it dispersed into two arcs of keening wings. Those two arcs re-merged between Serana and Vingalmo, a kneeling figure emerging from the darkness and rising to her feet with a fierce scowl on her face and a smoldering fire in her eyes.

"Who said that you could lay your _filthy_ mongrel hands on _my daughter_?"

Serana blinked several times, a dark cloak engulfing her as she reverted to human form, then came up alongside a woman who, but for visible age, might have been her twin, in both looks and garb. "Mother—you came."

Valerica cast the recovering Vingalmo one last scowl before turning to Serana and smiling. "Of course I did." She grasped the girl's shoulders and nodded her head toward the Elf. "I would never leave you to fend for yourself against scum like this."

A loud explosion came from the nearby plateau as Ketar's Voice boomed in the distance, catching Serana's attention.

Sera's lips pursed tightly. "Well, right now, they need more help than I do."

Valerica frowned.

Sera laid a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Trust me…" she turned a malevolent smile on Vingalmo, "I've got this."

Reluctantly, the vampire matron nodded just slightly, her body engulfed by a cloak of darkness as she stepped away, then exploded into another massive swarm of bats that flew straight toward the raging battle in the distance. Vingalmo stared at her exit blankly, effectively turning his back to Serana.

She smirked as her body transformed once more. _Big mistake._

The Altmer vampire whirled around just in time to stop her from running him through, but was still caught off-guard when she slashed her off-hand's claws across his cheek and kicked him into a boulder. Her follow-up slash scored a deep gash in the rock as Vingalmo turned himself into bats and re-formed behind her. Serana whirled toward him in an instant, sword twirling and spinning casually.

"Your fight is _here_ , Vingalmo," she mocked. "Eyes here, or you _die_." Serana grinned. "Though let's be honest—" she lunged forward, sword barely stopped from puncturing his skin by Vingalmo's axe-shaft, "—you're going to die anyway."

The other vampire still just looked confused. "But—she didn't even transform before—"

A head-butt to the nose sent Vingalmo stumbling back, quickly followed by a talon-kick to the chest. Taking a play out of his book, Serana used his backward momentum to dig her talons into his Elven chestpiece and rip it from his torso, exposing his bare chest and finally making his heart vulnerable. She tossed the ruined armor aside as she slowly stalked toward Vingalmo, whose eyes were flashing with a mixture of confusion and panic.

"You still don't _get_ it, Vingalmo," Serana snarled. "Take our blood, steal our power—you will _never_ have what we have. Never be what we are. Not in a hundred, or five hundred, or a _thousand_ years!"

His fangs bared in anger. "Why— _why_?!"

Vingalmo lunged forward, swinging his axe as Serana swung her blade at the point that joined its haft and head, the Skyforged ebony shearing the Elven metal in two and rendering it useless.

"Because," she replied in a near-growl, "we fight for the people in our lives who matter the most, for something that goes far beyond just us. _You_ only ever fight for _yourself_!"

Serana lunged forward and slashed at his vulnerable chest with her blade, finding his claws barring her path and battering his arms instead. Evidently, Vingalmo had practiced more with his weapons and less with his natural implements, because his ability to parry with his claws was drastically less developed than his ego. As a result, his arms quickly became a bloody mess of flayed flesh as she laid into him with every ounce of her rage. When he threw both arms in an "X" in front of his chest, Serana leapt straight upward and latched her left foot's talons onto his face, then used all her weight to slam him into the ground back-first.

"And that," Serana continued, "is why you are just—" pound, "—so—" slam, "—irrelevant."

Her taloned foot finally left his face, Vingalmo's expression somewhere between dazed and utterly terrified.

Serana snarled and brought her sword up with both hands in an underhanded grip, aiming for his heart. "Now do us all a favor and go to hell."

The moment the ebony blade started to fall, Vingalmo's gray-skinned body vanished into a cloud of bats and re-formed into his full bipedal form right behind her. She spun and swung for his chest, but a quick claw-swipe separated her from the weapon a split-second before his other hand came in behind the first and slashed her gut in the same spot that had been torn open by his talons. Snarling in pain, Serana whirled back toward him and made for a backhand that stopped halfway when she realized he wasn't standing there anymore. Instead, he'd taken to the skies and was currently flying away as fast as he could go.

Serana laughed harshly as she launched off the ground, leaving a small cloud of disturbed dust in her wake. "That's right, _run_ , you worm!" She grinned malevolently. "Your resistance just makes this all the sweeter."

…

Lydia had seen a lot of strange, terrifying things in her life. A _lot_. Living and working with the Last Dragonborn tended to do that. This, however…this was new. Specifically, that the Dragonborn she knew and loved had basically turned into an _actual freaking dragon_. His voice, as in normal speaking voice, had gained an echoing, otherworldly quality to it, as if it weren't just him speaking each word.

Which said nothing about the way he Shouted.

Where before, Lydia felt her eardrums thud and strain when he unleashed his Voice, now the entire ground shook every time he Spoke, and everything he did was multiplied far beyond the constraints of ordinary human—or Dragonborn—physiology. Being tackled to the ground by and bench-pressing a male vampire lord as if he were lifting a sack of grain was far from the most impressive feat he'd shown so far. But all the same, she could tell he was slowing down. His sword-blows, his lunges and rolls and maneuvers, everything was slowing to his normal pace, and his ethereal armor was growing dimmer by the second.

With that in mind, she and the others surged forward toward the vampires, reinforcing Ketar's every move while simultaneously staying out of his way. He pirouetted in a lightning-fast cyclone of razor-sharp dragonbone almost faster than the naked eye could pick up, scoring deep gashes along the arms and torsos of the three vampires nearest to him, wounds that sizzled and burned and left them open to the others' follow-ups. Lydia advanced on the weakest of the bunch (coincidentally, the one who'd been keeping her company in that cabin) and swung for him with Dawnbreaker's blessed blade.

The vampire rapidly withdrew as she lunged forward, raining down diagonal strikes with every step. Another, a female, came at her from the side and attempted to intervene with a sword-slash to her shoulder, but Brynjolf tackled it from behind and pulled back on its head, trying to dig his dagger into the side of its neck. The vampire lord grabbed Bryn by the hood and threw him off into Lydia, and the both of them went crashing down in a pile. Brynjolf helped Lydia regain her footing, and they exchanged a look before he spoke.

"What do you say we switch dance partners?"

Lydia looked from her captor to the female vampire, her gaze narrowing when she realized—the sword that fiend was using was Chillrend. Then the housecarl gave Brynjolf a smile that was all teeth. "Oh _yeah_."

And that, Lydia decided, was that, especially since Brynjolf immediately launched himself toward the weakened vampire and tackled it to the ground barbarian-style. He completely forewent any form of tact or finesse and actually started beating it with his bare (well, to be fair, the knuckles on those gauntlets were _hard_ ) hands. Lydia shrugged and faced her opponent, who was twirling _her_ sword in lazy circles as they paced around each other.

"You have something that belongs to me," Lydia snarled.

The she-vampire smiled nastily and puffed her chest out. "Then come and take it."

She intended to, and opened up her assault with a series of rapid stabs, her longer blade giving her something of a reach advantage as she tried to get inside the vampire's defenses. A fast, swiping counterattack went over Lydia's head when she put her armored shoulder down and drove it into the monster's gut hard, then followed it up with a rising slash to its left leg. A deep gash was carved into its gray skin, burning violently as the she-vampire shrieked and lunged toward Lydia with sword, claws, and even the sharp ends of its wings. Lydia felt a familiar, terrifying thrill surge through her body as adrenaline flooded her bloodstream, a maniacal laugh quickly rising in her chest and being stifled just as quickly.

The housecarl withdrew and lunged away from the vampire's strikes, every so often making a shallow swipe when it tried to slash at her with its wings and managing to score a hit on the right one. The she-vampire hissed in pain, and Lydia took advantage of that to lunge forward and slash at its other wing, actually managing to cleave it in half. The piercing-inhuman shrieks that came from the monster's throat made the Nord grimace in disgust, an expression that turned to pure rage when this _thing_ tried to spit her on her own blade. In a move that was half-adrenaline, half-berserker madness (and all Lydia), she jerked her body to the side and actually _grabbed_ the sword—by the blade.

She felt deep score-marks being gouged into her gloved fingers (as well as what was sure to be a painful case of frostbite) but only distantly as she tightened her grip around Chillrend's blade, holding it in place with her left hand while her right brought Dawnbreaker down on the wrist holding it. Another high-pitched shriek came from the thing's vocal cords as its hand was cleaved off, the sizzle of burning flesh filling Lydia's ears as her battle trance kicked in full. In the same motion as her falling cleave, she flicked Dawnbreaker's blade in the opposite direction and slashed the vampire across the throat just shallowly enough to leave its neck intact, but deep enough to sever its vocal cords and stop that _incessant_ screeching.

A flicker of pure madness entered Lydia's eyes as she buried Dawnbreaker's blade in the she-vampire's lower chest up to the hilt, intentionally missing its heart and leaving it alive but in total agony as she regained control of her proper weapon. The monster stared up at her, glowing eyes wide in terror at the feral grin on the berserker's features, one that rivaled, no, _surpassed_ the most fearsome bloodlust of its own kind. Frozen blood on her gouged hand, Lydia flipped Chillrend into her right hand and gripped it two-handedly at her shoulder. A powerful turn of her hips send a pronounced _shing_ carrying through the air as her wintry blade cleaved the vampire's head from its shoulders.

Without missing a beat, Lydia tore Dawnbreaker from its rapidly-decomposing body and sprinted toward Brynjolf, who was still wrestling the same vampire. She rolled her eyes in annoyance before deciding, "what the hell," and joining them on the ground.

…

To say Ketar was impressed with how far Agmaer had come as a fighter was being far too modest. Of the three serving as his backup, Ketar had noticed Agmaer stuck the closest to him, even when he was little more than a whirlwind of death, bobbing and weaving around his strikes and theirs while rapidly loading and unloading his crossbow into whatever came closest. Surprising that Agmaer was the one who ended up having his back most, considering the half-terrified look he'd seen in _Lydia's_ eyes. To be honest, Ketar was scaring himself a little at the moment.

None of his previous trials of Dragon Aspect had affected him this much. It was…well, he was only half-conscious at this point, and it had nothing to do with the Shout's physical drain on him. It was like he was in a trance, flowing from one motion to another, using weapons, magic, and his Voice at will in a single rushing tidal wave of destruction. A burst of fire breath discouraged and singed a vampire lord that came too close to Agmaer's back a split-second before Dragonborn's Fury came back to stop a sword-slash in its tracks. His off-hand dropped to his hip and drew the ebony dagger in his Nightingale armor in the blink of an eye, flicking the blade across his attacker's side and scoring a deep gash that forced it on the defensive.

To his right, Agmaer was forcing another vampire to stay at a distance or risk being skewered on his crossbow bolts, loading them almost as fast as he was letting them off. If he couldn't see the _four_ quivers strapped to various points on the boy's body, Ketar might have been worried about him running out. And then it occurred to him—he was fighting one vampire, Agmaer was holding another off, and Lydia and Brynjolf had apparently decided to start beating one to death with their bare hands (considering which one it was, he couldn't exactly blame them, even if he thought it was a stupid idea). Which begged the question: where the hell were the other two?

He got his answer a moment later when one of them touched down on a boulder at his right—back-first, in an impact so hard he heard something snap. A swarm of jet-black bats descended and coalesced into a familiar feminine form a moment later, Ketar's blue eyes widening as he recognized her features.

"Valerica! When did you—"

"Behind you!"

Without looking, Ketar dropped into a crouch and rapidly spun clockwise, Dragonborn's Fury cleaving through the air and his attacker's leg above the knee as its claws passed through the space where his neck had just been. Before the vampire had even hit the ground, the Fury was flipped to an underhanded grip and lifted to a stabbing position. Ketar brought it down as soon as the fiend touched down back-first, skewering its torso and piercing its heart with his enchanted blade. It dusted moments later, allowing Ketar a moment to breathe as he took stock of the situation.

Valerica laid into one of the fledgling vampire lords with her ebony dagger while the other tried to pin her in the back with its claws, but found itself on the receiving end of her boot when she planted a sideways back-kick into its throat without once looking away from her current target—or slowing her dagger-blows. It seemed that she, like her husband, had developed the art of spatial awareness to a razor-honed edge. Her dagger dug underhandedly into the forearm of the one she was assaulting, that anchor point used as leverage to hurl it toward Ketar, who lunged toward its falling body and fell into a slide as his Nightingale Bow extended and fired two arrows directly into its chest.

The creature dusted on the way down, Ketar sliding to a stop and nocking another arrow to fire at the one Agmaer was keeping at a distance when suddenly, a familiar voice came from above in a half-shriek.

"Look out!"

Ketar's head snapped toward the source, eyes widening when he saw two gray-winged forms descending toward the plateau. One of them was tinged partly yellow—and currently diving toward him, claws and talons extended. Ketar launched himself sideways, dive-rolling out of Vingalmo's path, but he failed to see the vampire's true goal until it was too late. Lydia's screaming form was carried off the dogpile she and Brynjolf had made of her captor as Ketar sprinted after them.

"Lydia!" Brynjolf screamed in tandem with Ketar, the latter glancing behind him as he sprinted for the edge.

Ketar leapt off the side of the plateau without hesitation, angling his arms upward and finding a pair of gray, clawed hands grasping his wrists a moment later as Serana caught and carried him through the air in pursuit of the kidnapped housecarl. With the others taking care of the remaining vampires, Serana's wingbeats increased in strength and frequency as she pushed herself to the limit. With the speed they were moving, and the way Lydia was struggling against her captor, Sera and Kay got within striking distance of Vingalmo in seconds. Right as he was about to dig his right hand's claws into her gut, Ketar threw a bolt of pure sunlight (courtesy of his ongoing lessons with Gelebor) into the offending arm and managed to cripple it.

Serana's now-free hand extended its claws and slashed at Vingalmo's wings as they streaked past, causing him to scream and fall to Nirn as his flight power was irreversibly crippled. Once again, Lydia managed to ensure that the vampire was the one to take the brunt of the impact, but unlike her previous kidnapper, Vingalmo wasn't letting go anytime soon. Serana and Ketar touched down twenty feet away from them as the crazed Elf hauled Lydia upright and put his left hand's claws to her throat as his badly burnt right forearm curled around her neck.

"Not another step!" roared Vingalmo, fangs bared savagely.

Sera and Kay came to an abrupt stop, the former snarling out her next words.

"Give it up, Vingalmo! You couldn't take us _both_ on at _full_ strength, much less the condition you're in now!"

He grimaced and smiled sinisterly. "I know. I know I can't match you." He constricted his right arm's hold on Lydia's neck, causing her to wheeze and gasp. "But I _can_ kill this one. This woman you both care about _so_ much. I can do that." Vingalmo's tone was nothing short of pure madness, and it showed in his eyes as well.

Serana exchanged a look with Ketar as the injured vampire kept talking. Ketar, meanwhile, was weighing their options. Sometime during his ride with Serana, his Dragon Aspect had run out, which meant he was disoriented and considerably weaker than before. Serana didn't look in much better shape, despite her confident air, and Lydia was suffering from oxygen deprivation and a day of captivity with these monsters.

"I'm taking her with me," Vingalmo yelled, "and you're going to let me go—you _never_ come after me!" He snarled. "And maybe, just maybe I'll send her back to you one day…in enough pieces to live."

A final, desperate idea occurring to him, Ketar stepped forward menacingly. "You're _done_ making ultimatums, Vingalmo. Your time is _over_."

"Then your dear Lydia is a dead woman. Kill me…and you kill her."

Ketar stared at Lydia, who was shaking her head with a scowl.

"Just," she wheezed, "kill—him."

Not even Serana's inhuman features could hide her fear. "Stop talking, Lydia. We'll figure something—"

"No."

Three of them stopped short, Serana slowly turning to face Ketar and see an expression of cold rage on his face, his eyes fixed on the monster holding his Lydia hostage.

"She's right," he said. "Kill him, Serana."

Vingalmo gaped at him. "Are you _mad_?"

Serana likewise stared at him from the side. "Far be it from me to actually _agree_ with him—"

"Kill him. Now. Go right for the heart." Ketar's lips twitched upward in a grim smile. "It'll be all right."

Her eyes widened. "Kay—"

"Sera," he interrupted firmly, slowly turning to meet her eyes, "…trust me." His jaw tightened. "And end this."

Slowly, reluctantly, Serana nodded to him, then faced Vingalmo, clawed right hand at her side and coiled up for a deadly lunge as her body did the same.

Vingalmo, for his part, looked between them in shock. "Have you completely lost your minds? Do you not _care_?! I'm going to _kill_ this woman!"

Ketar's gaze shifted to Lydia, and she gave him a small, stiff nod as her fingers firmly gripped Vingalmo's grasping forearm. He took a deep, slow breath as he fought his fatigue and called once more on the wellspring of power deep inside him.

"Believe me, Serana, I'll _do_ it!"

Serana's fangs bared as her body tensed with building energy. "No—"

" _Tiid-Klo-Ul_!"

A burst of pale blue light filled Ketar's vision as the passage of time slowed to a near-standstill. The Dragonborn immediately leapt into motion, moving considerably faster than either of them and sprinting toward Vingalmo with everything he had. His right hand drew the Blade of Woe even as the vampire brought the claws of his left hand down toward Lydia's neck, Serana's body already in motion. He stretched and pushed his aching, exhausted body to the limit, the underhanded dagger coming up as he made his final lunge and slashing off the ends of Vingalmo's stabbing fingers while his other hand and Lydia pulled down on the arm holding her in place. As Ketar felt the last of his power draining away, his hands finally found purchase on Lydia's body and yanked hard, pulling her from the vampire's grip and into a sideways tumble that rolled them out of his reach.

With the pain in his amputated fingers and his crippled right arm pulled aside, Vingalmo's chest was completely open, as Ketar's plan had always been. His head managed to face the deranged vampire right as time resumed its normal course—

And Serana buried her entire right hand in his chest.

"—you won't."

Ketar held Lydia close as Serana literally held a sputtering Vingalmo's heart in her hand, her body shaking with heavy breaths and barely contained rage.

"You will never," Sera said in a half-cry, "steal _anything_ from _anyone_ —ever—again."

With a single, rage-driven twist of her arm, Serana ripped Vingalmo's heart from his chest, still beating, and watched as he collapsed to his knees before crushing it into ash. With haphazard, dry sputters, Vingalmo's eyes bugged out as his body shook and burnt from the inside out, his entire demonic form consumed by supernatural fire until there was nothing left but pale gray dust.

…

The plains at the foot of the Jerall Mountains fell into utter silence as Serana shifted back to human form, blankly staring at her ash-covered hand as her mind struggled to catch up to her reality. Slowly but surely, her head and eyes turned to Ketar and Lydia, who'd regained their footing and were approaching her cautiously.

Gulping past the lump in her throat, Serana managed to squeak out, "Lydia?"

Seeing the near-desperate look on her face, the other woman smiled warmly. "It's okay, hon. I'm okay."

Serana nodded slowly, half in a daze, and abruptly turned back toward the mountain and plateau. "And the others—"

The keening of bats reached her ears moments before her mother's lithe form emerged from the sky.

"Valerica," Ketar called, "are they—"

"The whelps are dead," she said with no small amount of disgust. "The _abominations_ have been dealt with." Valerica smirked at him. "And your friends are doing just fine."

A collective sigh of relief came from the trio.

Valerica smirked wider and crossed her arms. "The youngest acquitted himself quite skillfully, I must say. Agmaer, was it?"

Ketar chuckled warmly. "Yeah."

Serana smiled and looked to the plateau to see two small forms waving. "I always said he'd go far."

They fell into silence once more, Serana turning to face Vingalmo's ashes as the cold mountain air began blowing them away. She felt a firm grip on her shoulders a moment later, and was surprised to find that it wasn't Ketar's touch, but Valerica's. Serana met her mother's eyes, so soft and warm they reminded her of her childhood, before all the madness had overtaken them. To see that again, now, was…it was like a piece of her soul had been restored.

Valerica earnestly looked into her eyes. "It's over, Serana." Slowly, she pulled her daughter into a tight embrace, the younger vampire shaking in her mother's arms. "The nightmare is finally over."

Serana didn't reply. She couldn't. Her throat had shut completely, and at that particular moment, talking seemed completely unnecessary. So, instead, she held onto her mother like an anchor, fingers curling in Valerica's cloak as her eyes fixed themselves onto the far western horizon. She felt more than saw Ketar and Lydia at her side, silently there for her as time marched onward. It took her almost a full minute to realize exactly what she was staring at.

When she did, Serana barked a cracked, giddy laugh of pure joy as she watched the sunset.

* * *

AN: WOOOOOW. This has to be my longest chapter…ever. At least, in this storyline. Totally worth it though. I wrote most of this in one sitting. Or, rather, one day. 10K words. In one day. Hehe. Feeling kind of shaky myself at the moment, but I'd already come this far and I really wanted to finish for you guys.

So there you have it; the end of Vingalmo. This chapter was basically one giant dose of pure bliss for me to write. Everything from Serana and Vingalmo's vampiric duel to Ketar's little "Captain America" moment with the tethers—all of this is stuff I've wanted to write for literally _months_. And ever since I saw you guys' reactions to what Vingalmo did to Sera in the first story, I've wanted to show you the sweet vengeance I had planned. I hope it was everything you dreamed of.

Not much else to say about this chapter, considering it was mostly action, but the next one is going to be considerably more mellow—and introduce some of my original characters. If they seem strange and/or completely out of context, bear with me. They become _very_ important later on. But I'm already giving too much away.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know if I delivered on what you wanted from this final encounter. Most, if not all, of you were calling for Vingalmo's limbs on a plate while Ketar roasted him over a spit with dragonfire, buuuut…I figured getting his heart ripped out by the woman he violated was more than sweet enough. Let me know if you agree.

Have a great weekend, and as always…

 _Oya, vode_.

\- CDrake

Musical Inspirations:

The Shannara Chronicles – Wil Genewen: start-0:32—first transformation/Lydia watches the smoke, 0:32-1:02—smoke parts/Ketar's run/Parkour pursuit/throwing the tether, 1:02-1:15—dragged toward the edge/making an anchor, 1:15-1:31—strained to the limit/curling a quarter ton, 1:31-end—crossbow shot/down to Nirn

Dracula Untold – Son of the Dragon: checking on Lydia/vampire rises/the fiends arrive/Dragon Aspect/"Shall we?"

Castlevania (Season 1) – Trevor Fights Alucard: Serana vs. Vingalmo/"Struggle all you want"/Valerica arrives

Inception - 528491: start-0:49—crash-landing/Vingalmo's threat, 0:49-1:33—"Your time is over"/"Trust me...and end this", 1:33-2:02—coiling up/" _Tiid-Klo-Ul_!", 2:02-end—Ketar's run/time resumes


	4. The Stranger

"Am I boring you?"

Serana lifted her head from where it had been resting on her palm and smiled at her interrogator. "No, just…" she sighed hard, "after the day we've had, I don't think architecture is the best choice of subject if you want to keep me awake."

Valerica chuckled softly and lifted the tankard in her hand. "Fair enough."

Sera took one glance at the festivities around her before turning back to the window, where she was staring at the imposing form of Dragonsreach. The Jarl's hall was illuminated from below by the bright torches and braziers on either side of its entry, and from above by the pale moonlight, full and blazing and casting the building in a ghostly, otherworldly silhouette. A few moments passed before Serana's lips turned downward.

"Why aren't you with him?"

Her head snapped back to Valerica, frown deepening. "After what she did, what she helped Vingalmo do…" She turned back to the window, jaw clenching. "I don't trust myself around her."

"And you trust _him_? He's known Lydia far longer than you."

"He also had the better part of two years to work up a tolerance for Maven Black-Briar," said Brynjolf from a seat a few feet away. He took a long draught of mead from a mug double the size of either of theirs. "Though to be honest, I can't say I'd trust myself up there either."

Serana just hummed and kept staring at Dragonsreach until a raucous female voice sounded behind her, grabbing her attention just in time to see Lydia ambush Brynjolf from behind in a tight bear hug—around his neck.

"Bryyyyyn!" she slurred. "Come on! Join us!"

By "us" she meant herself, Agmaer, and the current population of Jorrvaskr, which included most of the Companions. Though not technically Companions themselves, because of their ties to Ketar, pretty much everyone known to frequent his company was allowed and even encouraged to engage in their fairly frequent debauchery. Which, after the story Lydia had returned with—and unsurprisingly not had to embellish much—was in full swing. Serana, however, was slightly more concerned about Lydia's current position at the moment. Specifically, shaking Brynjolf in his chair—by his neck—while his face was steadily turning blue.

"You need to drink more, and _faster_!" Lydia slurred.

"Lydia," said Serana, "you might want to slow down a bit yourself."

The Nord woman shot her a look. "I've had two near-death experiences today. I think I'm entitled to get as hammered as I want."

"Sure. You're _not_ entitled to pull Brynjolf's head off in the process."

Lydia blinked owlishly, then looked down and noticed that her friend's face was turning purple and immediately released her death grip around his neck. He exploded into a massive coughing fit that quickly turned into laughter once he had enough breath. Once his breathing seemed to stabilize, Lydia dragged him from the chair and pulled him out into the mead hall's open floor, where the rest of the Companions had already started dancing. Serana just shook her head and turned back to the window, her smile fading more the longer she watched.

…

As any good businessman or woman knows, patience is a key factor to every victory. As such, the patience Maven Black-Briar had developed over the course of her lifetime was borderline legendary. Ten hours she'd waited for this farce to be over. Honestly, she'd have been perfectly fine waiting ten months if it meant she got to spit the Nord bitch watching guard over her on a rusty iron spike. At present, Mjoll the Lioness was sharpening her glass sword right outside Maven's cell, the sound of which was seriously grinding on her nerves. Her other two guards, Irileth and another Dunmer woman she didn't recognize, were sitting some distance off on either side of a table playing something she'd never seen before, probably some cultural game from their homeland of Morrowind.

Whatever the case, Maven had been fully awake and present when Irileth gave the guards outside strict orders not to enter—or let anyone else enter—under any circumstances, so when she heard the door click and slowly creak open, a smile began spreading over her features.

 _Ten hours…that's tight, efficient work._ Maven pushed herself up from her bedroll and approached the bars with a smug grin. _If I'd known vampires were so reliable, I'd have employed a few myself._

As expected, her guards had shot to their feet instantly, hands going for their weapons. However, she hadn't expected them to just stare at whoever was coming through the door. Maven pressed herself against the bars, trying to see the entrance and watch every detail of their impending doom, but the corner of the wall was too far out for her to get even a glimpse. All she could see was the pale expressions on her guards' faces and the way they numbly strode toward the door. Maven frowned as the last one vanished around the corner, hearing only a few smatterings of whispered speech that she couldn't make word or tone of. All she knew was that a few seconds after they left her cell, the door creaked and clicked shut.

And the temperature in the room instantly dropped ten degrees.

The torches outside her cell flickered and dimmed as a cold, biting wind cut through the window of her cell, chilling her to the bone. Unbidden and unconsciously, her fingers began to tremble around the bars of her cell, and her entire body froze in place when she heard it.

Steps.

Loud, methodical, and echoing throughout the prison's walls—and getting louder and closer by the second. The steps stopped just around the corner, the source just out of her vision. Maven's hands were shaking even harder than before when the tension in the air reached a fever pitch, and the torches flickered again. The shadows outside her cell shifted and morphed, their shape elongating and engulfing the space just outside the bars in darkness for just an instant. And an instant later, the returning light illuminated a familiar sight that nearly made her scream.

A faceless, hooded mask of pure darkness, and cold black eyes staring back at her.

Maven's lips trembled for about two seconds before she managed to exhale, "How?"

The shadow's head tilted to one side just so, those bottomless pits it called eyes never blinking. "I think you have slightly larger concerns at the moment."

The harsh, grating tone caused by the apparition's mask sent shivers down Maven's spine, making her shudder uncontrollably. "What do you want?"

Its head slowly cocked in the other direction. "What I want…" It hummed absently, even that seemingly innocuous sound making Maven tense.

"Out with it already!"

" _Silence_ ," it rasped. Its eyes narrowed just slightly, and that action alone would instantly have closed Maven's throat. "This is the part where _I_ speak, and you listen."

Her throat worked out a slow gulp.

"There will be no more speeches, Maven; no negotiations. You were already defeated, and I would have left it at that." His head tilted the other way once more, voice darkening even further. "But then you made a deal with the monster that violated the woman I love—"

A pronounced click sounded from the space in front of her, and with a shock of pure terror, she saw and heard her cell door creak open.

"—and nearly had my dearest friend murdered."

Immediately, Maven started backing away, eyes widening in horror as the last remaining barrier between her and that _thing_ vanished. He advanced into her cell step by step, the space between them shortening by the second as she felt her back quite literally up against the wall. Maven's body started shaking uncontrollably—or perhaps it already had been—as his shadow fell over her body, dwarfing and enveloping her in darkness. His gloved left hand shot out and pinned her to the wall by the throat.

"And _that_ , my dear Maven…" his head shook slowly as he reached for a sword-hilt at his back, "is something I _cannot_ forgive."

The proud Black-Briar matron nearly shrieked when his right hand whipped a midnight-black sword from his back, throwing her hands up and closing her eyes as she heard the weapon fall. Her hands lowered slowly after she heard the _shing_ of its impact, and looked down to see the tip of the sword buried in the ground. She cautiously turned her eyes back to that mask, another chill passing through her body as he stared back, expressionless and unblinking.

"I'm not going to kill you, Maven. Death is too sweet a pain for you to endure just yet."

Maven kept shaking and trembling for a few more moments before she managed to ask, "Then why are you here?"

A small, harsh chuckle emanated from the mask. "To deliver a message, of course. Your sentence, if you will." Finally, he blinked, slowly (which somehow was even more unnerving). "You're going to live out the rest of your days as a pariah, despised by those who once worshipped you out of fear or greed. Food will turn to ash in your mouth, the pleasures of life dulled to a pale gray. You'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, constantly wondering if, maybe, this is the day when you'll finally pay for your sins; when the man whose mercy you spurned will come to collect your debt in full.

"And that, my dear Maven, is a sentence you will _never_ escape." He drew closer, almost nose to mask as his tone lowered to a harsh growl. "Because no matter where you go, or what you do, I will be _watching_. And no matter how hard you try, you will never, _ever_ be able to forget that."

He released her neck, his left hand gripping her right while his right curled around the hilt of his sword. Confusion and fear warred within Maven until he twisted her hand painfully, palm-out, and pressed it against the sapphire and ebony of the sword's pommel.

And _then_ she screamed.

Maven's arms, her entire body thrashed about as she tried to wrench her hand out of his grip, to no avail. All she could do was shriek in agony as the sound and scent of burnt flesh filled the air of her cell, a blinding white piercing her vision as the pain robbed her of all sight and sense. Finally, when one excruciating moment began to fade into the next, it stopped, and she collapsed against the far wall of her cell as she heard the click of her cell door locking again. She opened her eyes just in time to see the shape of a large, brilliant-cut sapphire and runic markings seared into the flesh of her palm before another gust of wind sliced through the window and snuffed out every single torch.

Until morning, the only sounds in the whole of Dragonsreach prison were the occasional howl of wind and Maven's despairing sobs.

…

Serana's subdued mood had persisted throughout the "festivities," though it was clear the same couldn't be said for the others. Thus far, Brynjolf was matching Lydia drink for drink and the Companions _adored_ Agmaer. Granted, much of that might've been due to the fact that Valerica had practically been singing his praises all night, embellishing the story of Lydia's escape somewhat in his favor—although perhaps not exaggerating all that much. Still, Serana found it more than a little surprising that her mother would go to such lengths to paint Agmaer as a hero.

Even more surprising still was the devious, conspiratorial smirk she was trying to hide as Agmaer was hoisted to the top of a six-man pyramid comprised of Aela the Huntress, Vilkas, his brother Farkas, Skjor, and Athis. So, basically every werewolf in the Companions plus a Dark Elf. At present, Agmaer was chugging down a long flute of dark beer, despite having put away more than a few pints of mead (Black-Briar vintage, courtesy of Brynjolf) while keeping his balance on their shoulders. With a few final shakes, he managed to finish it off with a small flourish and shout of victory.

If the crazed, euphoric look on his face wasn't enough, his current volume of speech was more than enough evidence that Agmaer was, no pun intended, roaring drunk. Well, that, and his story seemed to have attracted to him more attention than just professional respect from the ladies of the group. Which, as Serana gave her mother a sideways glance, seemed to have been Valerica's intention. She had to give her mother credit. First real night back out in society, and she was already navigating the waters like a pro. Still, much as she enjoyed the company of her now-many friends, there was one face noticeably absent…

A loud creak from behind drew her attention to the entrance, where a frowning, somewhat haggard form shuffled in. Serana was on her feet in an instant, her sudden motion catching his eye, which she met with hers. Slowly, a small smile made its way to his lips as they strode toward each other, meeting halfway and embracing tightly. Her face pressed into his shoulder, nose tracing a path up the leather until she reached his neck, lips near his ear.

"You okay?"

He nodded against her head. "Just tired."

Serana nodded slowly, fingers gently stroking his hair. "Yeah. Pretty sure the same can be said for all of us. Gonna be a long nap at the end of tonight."

A loud uproar from the center of the mead hall caught their attention.

"That and a lot of hangovers," Ketar replied.

Serana could only nod in agreement, then shake her head at the mini-brawl that had erupted between Lydia and Aela. The men, on the other hand, were cheering the ladies on at the top of their lungs. Well, most of them, anyway. In addition to being a close friend of Ketar, Lydia was well-known among the Companions even before becoming his housecarl, first and foremost for being an unstoppable force of nature in combat. That was one of the main reasons no one in Jorrvaskr would ever turn her away if she wanted to drink with them. The other, as Serana had discovered a few weeks back (a rather deplorable one), was that the men hoped she'd get hammered enough to take one of them home.

Which, unfortunately, happened more often than Ketar liked.

On this particular night, however, there would be none of that. First, because Kay was actually _there_ this time, along with several other people who cared about her way too much to let her do something so stupid. And second, the night was incredibly young and Lydia already looked like she was about to pass out drunk. Agmaer looked like he was right behind her. Brynjolf, on the other hand, had regulated himself fairly well, despite her encouragement, and was keeping a close eye on Lydia despite his own inebriation.

With her gaze drifting around the room, it took Serana a few moments to realize she was being led toward the center by Ketar, who had this grin on his face. She figured out his game a second too late, and felt her stomach lurch to one side when he practically picked her up and started twirling around in time to the music. Loud, unrestrained laughter erupted from her throat as she was basically turned into a ragdoll, the grin on Ketar's face just fueling the mirth building in her chest as she closed her eyes and let herself go.

Her gaze flickered open for just a moment, immediately locking with his eyes, those impossibly deep blue pools that sent the most _exquisite_ shivers down her spine every time—and a fair amount of warmth everywhere else. Perhaps it was the alcohol Serana had already consumed (she doubted it), but if she didn't know how he'd undoubtedly react, she'd might have responded very differently when she saw him enter Jorrvaskr. Specifically, thrown him over her shoulder, carried him back to Breezehome, and proceeded to absolutely wreck his world.

But, unfortunately, Serana already knew his answer to that scenario. Not that she'd tested it, of course, but if he refused to even see her naked, something told her that taking him all the way would go over even less favorably. She never once thought that one of his greatest traits would make her want to tear her hair out. And then she cornered him one evening, randy as a mare in breeding season, and begun shedding layers of clothes one by one until he physically had to stop her. She'd wondered at it—after taking a long, cold bath to soothe her immense frustration—and discovered the next day that he intended to keep his virtue until (she'd physically shuddered upon hearing this) _marriage_.

At which point, she'd proceeded to stare at him blankly for a full five minutes in pure disbelief. After over a thousand years asleep, Serana had woken up to meet the only man she'd ever loved, only to find out months later that he was an anal retentive prude with a sense of chivalry the size of Imperial City. And it frustrated the living hell out of her. To be fair, it wasn't as if she thought he was opposed to the idea. After all, Serana had lived for centuries before being stored away in Dimhollow, and there was absolutely no mistaking the _hunger_ in his eyes. There was just one pesky little obstacle.

Marriage.

And there, she decided, was the rub. All it took was a night like this, when he was happy and alive and so disgustingly handsome, for that frustration to return full swing and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

 _Except,_ an annoying part of her brain told her, _say yes._

Unbidden, the memory of their conversation on the rooftops of Riften came to the fore of her mind, nearly making her frown before she remembered exactly where she was and forced her expression to remain jovial. It didn't take much, with how utterly infectious Ketar's happiness was, but still. It took effort. Which worried her. Serana had never thought something like this would be such a huge issue, but there they were. A young man, thoroughly experienced in everything except what makes life whole, and an ancient vampire who desperately wanted to expand his horizons…in an explosive manner.

Her frustration was even more potent after what he'd admitted in that same conversation. They were "practically already married," so what was the point in making it official? Really, what was the point? She didn't need a priest or some clerk to tell her they were bonded forever. Love did that just fine.

Serana frowned. _Though…"forever" brings up another issue entirely…_

Her feet touching the ground kept her from going too far down that rabbit hole, her eyes blinking and fixing on Ketar's, which were pointed in a different direction this time. He too had a frown on, a curious one. Serana's palms gently pressed against his chest while he motioned to Vilkas and called him over.

As soon as the big Nord was close enough to speak to without screaming, Ketar nodded at the far side of Jorrvaskr's great hall. "Who's that with the Harbinger?"

Serana turned to see what he was talking about and spotted Kodlak White-Mane, Harbinger of the Companions, speaking with a tall, exceptionally-built man in dark gold finery with blood-red stitching. He wore a long, flowing red cloak clasped around his shoulders by two gold brooches that glinted with a magical aura. A long tunic came down to his upper thighs, secured in place by a thick belt inlaid with rubies on either side of the buckle, and his lower leggings were encased by a pair of dark burgundy leather boots that came up to his calves. His black hair, streaked with a single cord of white around his temples, came down a few inches above his shoulders, and was parted over bronzed, severe yet pristine features.

Even in profile, Serana could see the man's eyes, a strange honey gold, darting across the old man's face as they conversed. A long, faded diagonal scar on his right cheek bore the mark of an assassin's blade, and cut a small bald line through the well-kept scruff that adorned his jaw and chin. Nearby, on his right side, was another raven-haired man, an Imperial just an inch shorter than Ketar, in a strange set of armor comprised of numerous plates of some sort of silvery blue metal laid over a black mesh undergarment. The boots were made of the same metal, though the section around the toes was separated into three distinct plates, making them resemble some sort of armored paw.

 _This_ man was actively scanning the breadth of the room, pausing for only a split-second on the revelry before his gaze halted on the couple. At that distance, with the flickering light and shadow from the nearby bonfire, the dark brown of his eyes looked completely black, no pupils at all. His gaze shifted from one of them to the other, eyes locking with Serana's for just a moment, but that brief contact alone made her hairs stand on end. His features, though significantly less severe than his companion, were noticeably paler; and the flat, stern look on his face brooked no nonsense.

Ketar apparently felt her tension, because she felt his hand enter hers and grip it firmly as he started moving toward them. The armored man gently tapped the arm of his companion as they approached the trio, the golden-eyed one turning to face them with arched eyebrows and a curious expression.

"Harbinger," Ketar greeted, extending a hand to Kodlak. "Who are your friends, if you don't mind me asking?"

The old man smiled and gripped his forearm in greeting. "Not at all." He patted the golden-eyed man's arm. "Zhanikan Vorenis, and his comrade," he waved at the other one, "Bard Gorshun. These two are old comrades of mine from years ago."

Zhanikan, who was a full two inches taller than Ketar and noticeably bulkier, smiled and turned to the young Breton. "We were passing through Skyrim and thought we'd pay Kodlak a visit."

Ketar's eyebrows shot upward. "Old comrades? You two must have quite a few stories to tell, then."

Zhanikan's lips twitched just slightly upward. "A fair few, certainly. Though we aren't Companions by any stretch."

Ketar's arm curled around Serana's shoulders as he smiled. "Neither is she." He waved at the exuberant Lydia and Agmaer currently making fools out of themselves. "Or the rest of my party, for that matter. The fact that you were able to stand next to the Harbinger in battle is proof enough of your valor."

The other man laughed, a warm sound that gave Serana distinctly different feelings than this Bard character. "Fair enough."

Kodlak cleared his throat and gripped Ketar and Zhanikan's shoulders. "I'd best make sure the youngsters don't burn down the hall in my absence."

Zhanikan gripped his forearm firmly. "Harbinger, always a pleasure."

"Likewise, Vorenis."

And then there were four.

…

Serana was supremely uncomfortable, that much was obvious. Ketar couldn't for the life of him figure out why, but his vampire lover was not a fan of Bard Gorshun. That didn't stop him from enjoying his conversation with Zhanikan, however, especially as, for the moment, the pair found themselves seated with full tankards of Black-Briar mead.

"Full credit to the owner for producing such fine drink," said Vorenis.

Ketar chuckled nervously. "Well, technically the owner's in prison right now."

His eyebrows hiked upward.

Kay shrugged. "It's a new development, and one I had a personal hand in. She was a racketeer and a murderer. At this point in time, her holdings should be passing to her next of kin, who's actually a personal friend of mine."

"Well…that's not something you hear every day." Zhanikan frowned a little. "Do you often topple criminal kingpins?"

Serana grinned crookedly as she hugged his arm. "Not always, but when he does, he does it with _style_."

Ketar smiled and looked down into his mug, then returned his gaze to Vorenis. "So where are you from, Mr. Vorenis?"

He chuckled softly. "Please, call me Zhan. As for where I'm from, it's a very long way from here, on an island hundreds of miles across the sea, in fact. The realm of Zhanik'la."

Serana's eyebrows hiked upward. "The what?"

Ketar frowned and cocked his head. "I'd heard stories, rumors of a flourishing civilization by that name, based out of old Aldmeris." He shook his head slightly. "Never met anyone from there, though."

Zhan chuckled again. "You might be surprised. Many of our number originate from nomadic cultures, so we've spread far and wide, explored much of the known world. We just don't usually broadcast our presence."

"Any particular reason?"

He shrugged. "Why make a deal about where you're from when you're living and thriving somewhere else? We are not comprised of any one culture, but an assimilation of _everything_ we come across, adopting the strengths of the civilizations we visit and live among. That, as it once did with your Empire, makes us stronger as a whole."

Ketar frowned. "Not anymore."

Zhan nodded with a sigh. "Sadly, that is true. Ever since the end of the Third Era, Cyrodiil has become the seat of a pushover state; an unfortunate existence indeed for something that had once stood so proud."

"All it took was an enemy determined enough to exploit that weakness, and here we are, in the middle of a civil war in one of the Empire's most powerful provinces."

"So I've heard. That's actually the reason I'm here, or part of it, anyway."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

His lips pursed as he nodded slowly, standing up. "Walk with me, and I'll explain more."

He rose from his seat, Serana starting to come with him.

Zhanikan cleared his throat sharply. "In private, if you don't mind."

Ketar felt his usual hackles start to rise, but one glance at Serana's reassuring smile and he nodded. "Very well."

He reluctantly followed the stranger toward a quiet, unoccupied section of the room, casting one last look at Serana, who'd apparently started a staring contest with the man across the table.

…

Serana held Bard's dark gaze for almost half a minute before she opened her mouth. "You're a werewolf."

The man blinked once before replying without hesitation. "You're a vampire." He sniffed the air twice, one eyebrow arching skyward just a bit. "And a _pureblood_ at that."

Her eyes widened slightly. "…how—"

"You wouldn't be the first I've run across." His head tilted partway to one side. "There's a distinctly sweeter scent to purebloods, like dead moss instead of a rotting corpse."

Serana took in a long drag of air through her nose. "And you smell a lot less like wet dog than the rest of the lycanthropes in this room."

Bard chuckled, the first time he'd shown any sort of mirth so far. "I guess I'm a bit like you in that regard."

She lifted an eyebrow. "A pureblood? Is there even such a thing as a pureblooded werewolf?"

Another chuckle. "Only in the way that I received it from Hircine himself."

Her other eyebrow joined the first. "I've…never heard of that before."

"Near as I can tell, I'm the only living example. And it was a prize hard-won." He cast Zhanikan a nod. "By him."

Serana blinked and frowned as she turned her gaze toward the distant pair. "Who is he, exactly?"

When she turned back, she could see Bard smiling warmly. "He's my nation's Avatar of Power, our greatest hero. And my best—and oldest—friend. Brother by bond, if you will."

She nodded slowly. "And you?"

He smirked. "I'm his bodyguard. With very few exceptions, I go where he goes."

She stared. "He single-handedly brokered a deal with Hircine to give you perfect lycanthropy. You're telling me a man like that _needs_ a bodyguard?"

Bard frowned slightly. "You'd be surprised." He waved at her. "After all, I could say the same about your paramour. The 'Last Dragonborn,' is it? If even half the stories passed around are true, he could very well be Skyrim's greatest hero. And does he always triumph alone?"

Serana frowned with the memory of him being pinned by Harkon. "Fair point."

Bard smiled wanly. "It's far from easy to count such a man as a friend, much less a lover."

"Yeah," she sighed. "But then, nothing worth having is easy."

He picked up his tankard and held it out. "I'll drink to that."

Serana clinked her mug against his before they forsook conversation for the pleasures of mead.

…

"So, you want to broker a peace between the two sides?"

Zhanikan winced. "Yes and no. You already got them to agree to a cease-fire, and it hasn't fixed relations between the Imperials and Nords at _all_. I want to fix the root _cause_ of this war: the White-Gold Concordat."

Ketar's eyebrows hiked upward. "You…want to amend our treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion?"

"No. I want to throw it out."

He blinked. "That's…ambitious. And extremely hazardous. If the last two years in Skyrim have taught me anything about the Dominion and the Thalmor, it's that they don't brook opposition or dissent in any regard. It's gotta be their way or not at all. Getting them to negotiate _anything_ would be a miracle, but to burn the Concordat and start fresh? That's nigh-impossible."

Zhanikan smiled widely. "This is what I love about men like you. 'Nigh' impossible. You adequately and appropriately acknowledge the difficulty of a task while leaving the possibility of success." He shrugged. "Under the present circumstances, I'd have to agree with your assessment wholeheartedly. The difficulty of getting them to even sit down, much less agree to a new treaty, is sky-high at the moment. In order to have the remotest chance of success, we would need an adequate amount of leverage with which to bargain. We would effectively have to force their hand."

"Pretty much," Ketar agreed, "but neither the Empire nor Skyrim has the leverage or power to do that. And even if they somehow managed to set aside their differences and combine forces, the Dominion would still be able to quash any sort of rebellion or conflict with relative ease."

Zhanikan nodded grimly. "Which is where I come in. Our nation is small, but very powerful, and while we may not be able to subdue the entirety of the Dominion, with our power added to the Empire's, the resulting conflict would make any lasting war unprofitable for both sides."

"While that sounds great in theory, the fact is, those Altmer bastards are more than petty enough to stick it out just to spite us."

He sighed. "I know. Still…what else do we have?"

Ketar frowned. "We? The Aldmeri Dominion hates the Empire, but what stake do you have in this?"

Zhan arched an eyebrow. "We occupy Aldmeris. _All_ of Aldmeris."

His eyes widened. " _Oh_."

"Yes. Oh. We routed them once before, with great success, but I'm afraid that just drove them to engage the Empire with even more vigor. And now that they've basically turned all of Tamriel into satellite nations feeding them resources—"

"You're afraid they'll come back to Aldmeris for round two."

He nodded slowly.

Ketar sighed hard. "I really wish there were more I could do, but…"

"From the way people talk, you already have a great deal on your plate, what with the 'end of the world' and all."

He chuckled. "Yeah. You could say that." A frown. "Once that's over, though, the two sides of this war will just go back to killing each other. That's in part why I've delayed this long, but…I can't hold off much longer. Alduin's dragons are getting bolder and more brutal by the day, and I can only be in so many places at once. I _have_ to cut off the head. I just…need a way to stop the two idiots leading both sides from starting a civil war once I do."

Zhanikan smiled enigmatically. "Based on your history, I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Ketar hummed absently, staring at the ground for a while before something occurred to him, and he frowned up at Zhan. "Zhanik'la…is it common for people from your nation to be named after the country?"

Zhan's golden eyes flashed with something akin to mischief for a moment before he smiled. "Not at all. Far as I know, I'm the only one."

"Why's that?"

The older man blinked and tilted his head, that glimmer returning to his eyes. "Because I founded it."

Ketar stared at him blankly for a while, blinking several times. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The country. I founded it."

A few more blinks. "Then…you're—"

Zhanikan interrupted him with deep, warm chuckling. "I apologize. Unless I want to make an impression, I don't like to introduce myself with my full title."

Vorenis smiled widely, shoulders broadening just a bit as he seemed to stand even taller. Ketar's eyes widened and jaw dropped when the flap of his cloak revealed a jeweled, distinctively draconic signet ring on his right pinky.

"I am Lord Zhanikan Vorenis, sovereign king of Zhanik'la and emperor of the Eltheric Alliance."

The Last Dragonborn resumed staring dumbly for a good while before letting out a huff and speaking.

"Well…shit."

…

Bard's hard, long-suffering sigh snapped Serana out of a ten second-long blank, slack-jawed stare at Ketar and Zhan.

"You know," he said, "it's considered impolite to eavesdrop on a private conversation."

Slowly, she turned to him, eyes still wide as buttons. "He's—"

"Yes."

"…which makes you—"

"Captain of the Zhanik'la Honor Guard and his Lord Protector, yes."

A few slow blinks followed on Serana's part. "Do you usually travel incognito?"

"These days? Sure. Pomp and circumstance are overrated, I find."

Serana breathed out slowly, shaking her head. "My life just keeps getting weirder."

Bard arched an eyebrow. "This coming from a pureblood vampire?"

"I thought waking up from a thousand-year nap to find the world a much different place was weird enough, so yes."

"…huh."

…

Zhanikan, it seemed, couldn't suppress a wry smirk. "Is this your first time in the presence of royalty?"

Ketar winced. _Technically no, but…I've never been this close without a weapon in my hand._ "Well, I've met Jarls Elisif and Ulfric, the two contenders for Skyrim's Jagged Crown, so depending on how you look at it…"

Zhan snorted. "You mean pretenders. Ulfric is an embittered tyrant; Elisif, a puppet of the Empire."

Ketar sighed hard. "Yeah, I know. Honestly," he waved toward Dragonsreach, "the Jarl of _Whiterun_ would be a better candidate than either of them."

Lord Zhanikan's eyes narrowed curiously. "How so?"

A shrug. "Well, for one, he's kept his head in the face of this civil war, refused to embroil his people in Ulfric and Tullius' little pissing contest. For now, both sides respect that Whiterun is neutral ground, which is invaluable to people like me, who want no part of any of it."

"Some would say he's a coward for not making a decision."

Ketar's jaw tightened. "But he _did_ make a decision. He decided he wasn't going to let the ego of one man endanger the thousands of innocents under his protection. Balgruuf isn't beholden to either side, and is completely uninterested in politics. Anyone who tries to force him to accept the false dichotomy of Imperials or Stormcloaks gets a swift kick in the pants, followed by a kick to the ass booting them from his Hold."

Zhanikan nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I see."

…

"Zhanikan founded Zhanik'la."

"Yes, and I was there with him from the beginning."

"…then how old _are_ you?"

Bard chuckled. "You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You say to the centuries-old vampire."

Another laugh. "Fair point. Still, it's hardly a matter of relevance."

"Why's that?"

He frowned slightly. "Because there's no way Ketar is much older than twenty-five, and you, a centuries-old vampire, are in love with him. For the most part, age is just an arbitrary number."

Serana leaned back in her seat and sighed. "Fair enough."

…

"Well, we'd best be off."

Kay frowned. "At this time of night?"

Vorenis chuckled. "Evil never sleeps, Ketar, and neither can we. If a costly war with the potential to claim hundreds of thousands of lives is to be prevented, every effort must be spared."

Ketar nodded and extended his hand. "Well, good luck with that, Lord Zhanikan."

He smiled widely and shook it. "Likewise, Lord Dov."

Zhanikan strode over to his loyal bodyguard, the Imperial nodding to him as he rose from his seat, giving Serana a nod of respect, which she returned.

"Lady Serana," said Zhan as he bent down to kiss her hand, "a pleasure meeting you. I do hope we see each other again." His golden eyes lingered on Ketar. "Though hopefully under better circumstances."

Ketar nodded and drew an arm around Serana's waist. "Agreed."

Zhan's head tipped slightly in parting, Bard's lithely armored form following him out. The couple watched the strangers from Aldmeris go with blank expressions, Ketar's features twisting into a slight frown as his lips pursed.

"Well," said Serana, "that's not something you see every day." She looked up at him and tilted her head in question. "What's wrong?"

Ketar blinked and shook his head slightly. "Nothing, just…" he stared at the door they'd left through, "he seemed familiar."

…

From there, the night had progressed much as they'd expected. The presence of Zhanikan and Bard faded to the back of Ketar's mind as he let himself coast along, feeling a fog of exhaustion slowly creep up on him over the course of the celebration. Sometime after his eyes drifted shut, he heard a familiarly irritating voice, slurred by drink and toned by sleaze, in uncomfortably close proximity with another similarly slurred voice. His eyes drifted open to see the perpetually-drunk Torvar almost up in Lydia's face, nearly touching. Ketar was about to launch himself from his seat when a black-red blur appeared out of nowhere and gently pushed her way between them.

He couldn't hear what was said at that distance, but by the way Torvar's expression got a thousand times sleazier and Serana's eyes narrowed to threatening slits, it was definitely not a conversation he would approve of. And then _it_ happened. Torvar attempted— _attempted_ to grab Serana by the rear. Ketar was halfway out of his chair—knocking it back in the process—when he heard a pronounced snap from that direction and cocked his head in curiosity at the unnatural twist that Torvar's wrist had adopted in the last half-second. Kay's eyes widened.

 _I didn't even see her move._ He groaned and rubbed his eyes. _Though that might just be the mead._

Still, even with the horrified look on Torvar's face as he stared at his broken appendage, Ketar felt a boiling heat stirring in his veins and strode over to them, taking Lydia by the arm and pulling her to his chest.

"Kaaaaayyy!"

He sighed hard. "I think it's time to take you home."

"Nooooo…"

"Oh yeah, you're done."

Ketar scanned the crowd, catching sight of Brynjolf and giving him a nod. The thief returned it and headed over, perfectly steady on his feet. Ketar gently handed the half-conscious Lydia off to him.

"Take her to the Bannered Mare," Ketar said. "Stay with her, make sure she's okay in the morning."

Brynjolf's lips pursed with a nod. He blinked when Ketar held onto her arm tightly.

The Dragonborn frowned at him. "I'm trusting you with her, Bryn."

He smiled warmly and looked at Lydia's drink-blushed features. "I know." He looked and nodded over his shoulder. "What about the kid?"

Ketar arched an eyebrow and glanced over to see Agmaer surrounded by no less than three women of the Companions. He chuckled. "Pretty sure we couldn't haul him out of here if we tried."

"I'll keep an eye on him," said a voice he hadn't expected.

Serana blinked. "Mother?" She laughed. "I'd almost forgotten you were here."

Valerica smirked. "Agmaer will be fine. I'll make sure nothing too regrettable happens to him."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "You sure?"

She nodded. "I've missed gatherings like this. Even if I'm not actively participating, it still feels…relaxing. That said, I'm not quite ready to leave myself."

Serana smiled and embraced her. "Then enjoy the rest of your night. I, on the other hand, cannot _wait_ to sleep."

Ketar smiled as he took her hand. "See you tomorrow?"

Valerica inclined her head. "Of course."

Kay patted Brynjolf's shoulder. "Get her out of here."

"Aye. Sleep well, lad."

Ketar grunted as they made their way to the door. "Gonna sleep for a week after this."

A universal groan of agreement came from the other three as they exited into the cold midnight air of Whiterun.

…

Later, when they were back at Breezehome and ready to sleep, Serana and Ketar found themselves lounging by the fire pit in the center of their home. The couch cushions had been freshly fluffed by Lydia the day before, so they sunk in deep when Serana was sitting on his lap, making it feel like Ketar was lounging on a bed of thick moss. As they watched the flickering red of the flames, he felt another wave of exhaustion washing over him, snapped from dozing off only by Serana's soft voice.

"Hard to believe."

Ketar blinked and took a sharp intake of breath. "What is?"

Serana frowned. "That just this morning, we were being lauded as heroes."

He looked up at her, loving the way the red light made her features glow.

"Then everything went to hell." She frowned deeper and looked down. "And we almost had to bury a friend."

Ketar found her hand and gripped it tightly. "I try not to think about it."

"All because of me."

He blinked and set his jaw firmly. "Hey, none of that, Sera."

"I know, I know." She sighed. "But you know better than anyone how easy it is to lose yourself in the 'what ifs.'"

"You're right, I do. Which is why I'm going to cut that off before it starts. We went to Jorrvaskr tonight to celebrate a victory, which is exactly what happened. Complete, total, and ending with the destruction of a hated enemy. Those are the _facts_ , so stop obsessing over the possibilities."

Serana let out a long breath and turned in his arms, looping hers around his neck and meeting his gaze. "I know."

Ketar alternated his focus from one of her eyes to the other. "Knowing isn't the same as doing. Lydia gave me that same advice in this very room, and it took me over a month to realize exactly what she meant. I spent a lot of nights blaming myself for what Vingalmo did to you, even after we defeated Harkon. _Especially_ then, because there wasn't anything left to distract me."

"Kay—"

"Just—let me finish. I allowed the shame and guilt of that day to push me down, to clog my mind with all this extraneous garbage about circumstances that I couldn't control in the first place. But shame can't coexist with progress. One has to give way. If you let yourself get bogged down in the diverging paths of those moments, focus on the horrific outcomes that might have been, you'll find yourself paralyzed and overwhelmed. You'll find any way to blame yourself for everything that went wrong and even things that never happened and—" he sighed hard, "—Sera, just don't go there. Lydia's alive, I'm alive, you're alive, and Vingalmo's worthless ashes are scattered to the four corners of Skyrim by now." He smiled up at her and gently cupped her cheek. "We _won_."

Serana's eyes never left his as he stroked her hair, undoing the horizontal braid at the back of her head and letting her silky raven hair hang down around her shoulders. Her pale red lips parted slightly, her gaze flickering down to his briefly before returning to his eyes. Ketar smiled widely, feeling a warmth overtake him that had nothing to do with the fire and leaning forward until their foreheads were touching. Soft, quiet breaths passed from Sera's parted lips as their eyes closed. He felt her hand grip his tightly a moment before her whispering voice reached his ears.

"I love you…and I never want you to forget that."

Ketar smiled from ear to ear, brushing his lips against her cheek as he held her close. "Never."

He kissed her earlobe, her cheek, her jaw, his fingers running through her hair and across her back. His lips drifted lower, to her neck, and pressed against her sweet skin, kissing every spot he could reach, gently marking her with his touch. It wasn't until his eyes drifted open and saw the firelight playing over the pale skin of her neck that he noticed something. A small gasp came from his throat as his eyes went wide.

Above him, Serana blinked and asked, "What?"

"It's…" Ketar smiled and let out a small, watery laugh, "your neck."

Apparently, she'd just realized he'd been kissing the left side of her neck, because she tensed up a bit. "W-What about it?"

"The scars." He reached out and stroked his index and middle fingers across her flawless skin. His eyes drifted up to hers, the deep blue orbs dancing with elation. "They're gone."

Serana's eyes widened. " _What_?"

"They're gone, Sera. I don't know how or why, but…the marks are gone."

Her head snapped toward a nearby mirror hanging from a wall, and she craned her neck to expose it to the firelight. As the seconds passed, Ketar saw several emotions play across her face, ranging from wonder to relief to something he couldn't describe. It was that last one that she turned to him with, eyes soft and vulnerable and warming his soul. He barely had time to blink before her lips were on his and she was absolutely devouring him. Oxygen became secondary, consciousness even more elusive, and by the time he could think halfway coherently, he was gasping for air and unable to see straight.

When he saw the ravenous look in her eyes, he closed his own and decided that sight was overrated.

…

An hour later, when they were several pounds of armor lighter and lying in bed, Serana had her eyes closed and her ear pressed against his bare chest. She heard every beat, felt every rise and tremble of his muscles. His breathing and heart rate were always at least slightly elevated when she was this close, and after the way they'd spent the last hour, tonight was definitely no exception.

Even if she was _still_ frustrated by his reticence.

At the moment, though, that was a small, insignificant part of her tucked away somewhere in the back of her head behind the balm of his touch. Over their months together, and even while they were with each other right then, Serana had taken a lot of time to consider the moments of comfort they enjoyed. True, things never got as out of control and _bare_ as she so desperately craved, but…in a way, this was better. More intimate. Centuries of life before meeting Ketar had led Serana to believe that she'd seen just about everything men had to offer, but she couldn't have been more wrong.

He lavished affection on more than just her body. He didn't rush anywhere, despite her insistence and aggressiveness, but always paid close attention to her reactions and emotions. No matter what he did or where his touch went, an overarching, ever-present respect and love guided his actions. The same chivalry that prevented her from satisfying her more…animalistic side made her melt from the inside out whenever he so much as held her. Because when he kissed her, or ran his fingers through her hair, or glided his hand over her abs (which she still couldn't figure out), he never once made it about him.

With every touch, every adoring look he threw her way, he communicated the feelings and commitment that words, no matter how heartfelt or sincere, could never properly convey. For a time, she had wondered why she hadn't seen his confession on the roof of Fort Dawnguard coming. And then it hit her: love, the kind of love he'd carried for her before either of them had known how to name it, was something that, in all her centuries of life and unlife, she had never experienced before. Even before her parents had gone off the rails, their relationship had always seemed to be based off power, an intense, passionate rivalry of sorts. But with Kay…

Gods…he loved her so much it hurt.

She saw it every time she lost herself in his eyes. If right there and then, he'd asked the question he had after confessing to her, she would still have answered yes. How could she be the object and host of such powerful feelings, such a powerful connection, and not be completely terrified? So there they were, an immortal and a demigod, endowed with a mission of justice by Akatosh himself and hopelessly in love with each other.

Serana sighed softly, contentedly, as she pulled herself further on top of him and felt his arms tighten protectively around her body. As she turned her eyes upward to see his, she admitted in the private recesses of her mind that she would do absolutely anything for this man, just to keep that look on his face. She knew he would never ask her to do anything she truly didn't want to. Perhaps some things would take longer for her to accept than others, but in the end…she could never deny him. Ketar was the greatest man—the greatest _person_ —she'd ever known, and he loved her more than life itself.

So, with that in mind, what could Serana do but respond in kind?

* * *

AN: _FINALLY_! Geez, you would not _believe_ the crap I had to go through to get this chapter done. First, my computer crashed, losing the two paragraphs I'd already written, which wasn't a huge deal. And then, once I'd fixed it, it just decided to up and die on me. Full-on hardware failure, critical systems just gone. And _that_ lost me a good third of the chapter. So, if that wasn't disheartening enough, it's taken over a week to repair, and it still isn't back yet, so I've had to sneak time in with public computers during my work breaks just to make some progress. Finally got a temporary laptop to work with, which is how I blew through the last couple thousand words and finished the chapter.

Needless to say, I am _extremely_ relieved that I managed to get through this and get some more out for you, especially with the rather abrupt way the last chapter ended. With that in mind, I might be rewriting the scene with Maven once I get my computer back, if they managed to save my data. Every time I tried to do that section, it just felt off to me because I had it _perfect_ the first time around. In fact, I'd just finished that scene when my computer died. Ain't that a kick in the head?

In case you didn't figure it out already, the chapter is named after the mysterious visitor Kodlak gets during the festivities, who happens to be one of my most important OCs in this world. You'll understand why later, and the full story will be explained in the second sequel, which probably won't be coming immediately after this one is finished. Rest assured, as with everything I write, _Children_ _of Akatosh_ will be _complete_ once I'm finished with it. No cliffhangers, just a few unanswered questions that will hopefully bring you back when I get started on number 3.

Other than that, not much to say except sorry for taking so long. Circumstances beyond my control conspired to keep me from getting this out, but I powered through it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and are looking forward to more.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Batman v. Superman – Men Are Still Good: 1:10-3:26—visit to Maven/branded

Mass Effect 2 – Reflections: scars are gone/Ketar's love/end of chapter


	5. The Northern Maiden

Back when they'd first gotten together, Serana hadn't been at all kidding when she said waking up during the day was exhausting. Even on a steady diet of his blood, she had to muscle her way out of bed if the sun was up when she woke, usually with grumbles and a pointed glare at the reason for her unusual sleep schedule. But of course she never stayed mad at him for long, because he consistently answered with a smile and the promise of honey-glazed mutton and eggs. On this particular morning, he brought her breakfast before she even had the chance to grumble.

Serana had one hand over her left eye, the other one closed and aching from the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. When her uncovered eye cracked open, all she could see was Ketar's smiling face and a steaming pile of meat and eggs on a literal silver platter. Her right eye stared at the platter and blinked a few times before slowly moving up to his face.

"What did you do?"

Ketar blinked and drew back slightly, a confused expression on his face. "What do you mean? Do I have to do something to make breakfast for the most beautiful woman in the world?"

Serana let her hand drop and fixed him with a squinty look from both her eyes. "Breakfast _and_ flattery. This should be good."

His features softened. "I just thought that…after yesterday, how _busy_ things were…you could use a little pick-me-up."

She sighed softly and cracked a smile as she reached out and took his offered hand. "Fair enough." She huffed a laugh. "Though calling yesterday busy is like calling puppies cute."

Ketar released a loud, hearty laugh as he led her to a nearby table and set the platter in front of her. Together, they sat and ate in silence for a while before Serana noticed he hadn't stopped smiling. In fact, his smile hadn't even thinned, which was unusual. It wasn't that he had an aversion to smiling. On the contrary, these days he smiled widely, and often, but not usually for that long. Not unless he had something up his sleeve…which made her earlier suspicion return with a vengeance.

Mid-bite, Serana pointed her fork at him. "You're up to something."

His smile turned into a smirk. "What makes you say that?"

"You're smiling. A lot."

"So? Can't I be happy?"

"Oh, you can be plenty happy, love. You're happy all the time nowadays. What you're not is grinning like a madman." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm onto you, Kay." She stabbed her fork into another section of her breakfast and raised it to her lips, her eyes never leaving his for dramatic effect.

He just grinned again and shook his head. "If you say so."

The rest of breakfast passed in silence, part because Sera was trying to figure out what he was up to, part because she was, for some reason, _really_ hungry this morning. And Ketar just kept staring into the distance while sipping his morning tea. Serana felt that something was off about him today, but couldn't put her finger on it. He wasn't in armor, but his dark leather vest and blue tunic. The collar of his tunic was flared open slightly, exposing his neck and the amulet he was wearing. And as she slipped the last bite of food in her mouth, Serana nearly choked when she discovered what was different.

The amulet he was wearing wasn't of Akatosh, but of Mara.

Apparently, Ketar recognized the look on her face, because he shrugged and sighed. "We said we'd talk."

Serana couldn't take her eyes off the cross-embossed circular amulet resting between his collarbones. The turquoise stone sitting in its center glinted with a curious light that made her uneasy. With some effort, she managed to shift her vision to his eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Yes," she finally conceded, "we did."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly as he rose from his seat and knelt in front of her. "Sera…will you marry me?"

Her eyes slipped shut as she sighed hard. "Kay…there's something you should know."

"Okay?"

"Temples…priests, that sort of thing…" she fixed him with an earnest look, "they make me uneasy whenever I go anywhere _near_ them. I don't fancy finding out what would happen if I took a step inside."

Ketar blinked several times. "But—Akatosh said Mara approved of you."

Serana stared at him. "Okay, even if I bought that, so does Akatosh, apparently, and sunlight still harms me."

He frowned and sighed. "That's true." His head shook as he regained his footing and took the amulet off. "Okay, fine. Toss the priests, toss the temple wedding. We could have the _Jarl_ marry us." He smiled. "You know he wouldn't hesitate to say yes."

Serana tensed a bit. _Damn. Hadn't thought of that._ She exhaled hard and stood up. "Kay, I just don't see why we have to go through the trouble. I mean, it's a ring, or an amulet, a ceremony, and a piece of paper. We don't need all that to have a future together."

He took her hands and fixed her with another adoring look. "I know, but whether it's an amulet or a ring, I want anyone who looks at us to know we gave ourselves to each other. Fully, completely, in a bond that no one can come between."

Sera stared at his earnest features for a while before something gradually dawned on her, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Wait a minute…this is about last night, isn't it?"

He blinked.

"This is about Jorrvaskr and Torvar."

She felt his hands tense slightly. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

A grin spread over Serana's face. "Oh yes you do." She bit her lower lip and got in close, right up in his face. "You're jealous."

Ketar stared back at her impassively for a good while before his blank façade dropped into a mildly irritated frown. "You're gods-damned right I was. He's lucky I was on the other side of the room, and that you have such sharp reflexes, because even with what you did, I was a hairsbreadth away from relieving that swine of his hand."

She grinned wider and tapped his lower lip with her index. "You know, I don't usually like the thought of being a kept woman, but I gotta admit, possessive is a good look on you." She leaned in close and breathed her words against his lips. "It's _sexy_."

She could see him trying to retain his calm, lips pursed tightly. "You can't flirt your way out of this conversation."

Sera leaned back slightly and gave him a coquettish smile. "Why dear, I can't imagine what you mean. But if making you jealous gets this reaction every time, I might have to do it more often."

His blue eyes narrowed. "Sera—" he sighed hard, expression softening, "—what's really going on with you?"

The vampire drew back to arm's length and sighed, her smile finally dropping away.

He reached out and tipped her chin up. "Talk to me."

Serana stared into his eyes, her own roving over his young, virile features in accustomed awe while her mind started playing tricks on her. Those features morphed and shifted, wrinkles bending scars and pallor making them stand out even more. Her heart lurched in her chest as she gulped and looked back to his eyes, everything else fading away as reality set back in. Thinking fast, her mind raced for an answer before finding something she could convey with enough earnestness to convince him.

Serana licked her lips and took a breath. "I…I spent the last thousand years sleeping, and the couple hundred before that helplessly watching my parents argue about how to spend eternity. I was so absorbed in the pain that all of my pursuits lost their meaning after a while. I had no purpose, no real aim. And now that I'm with you, fighting alongside you, facing down these threats…I feel like I've _found_ my purpose."

He nodded slowly. "You told me this yesterday."

She frowned and nodded. "It's just…in my experience, getting married changes things. A lot. And…I'm just worried that if we go there, all I'll ever get is a taste of that purpose."

Ketar blinked once, twice, slowly, as his mind processed her words. "Are you serious?"

Serana nodded.

He huffed an incredulous laugh. "Sera—really? You think you're gonna become some housewife once you're married to me?"

Her eyes rolled. "No, but with all your talk of slowing down, or cutting back, after Alduin is defeated, I'm just afraid that…you'll stop going out and letting me fight beside you."

Ketar's eyes rolled toward the ceiling as a pronounced groan left his throat. "Serana Volkihar, I swear it's like you don't know me at all." He laughed. "Do you really think I'm gonna retire once Alduin is dead? I mean, really, do you think I'm gonna become a farmer or some such? Live off the land?" Another laugh, louder than last time. "Cutting back isn't retirement, Sera. To be perfectly honest, retirement would agree with me about as much as fried shrimp."

She arched an eyebrow in question.

He just groaned and held up a hand. "Long story. Don't ask. Bottom line: I'm in my prime and stronger than I've ever been. I couldn't stay out of it if I tried; I'd go stir-crazy inside a week." He smiled widely and cupped her cheek. "So, you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

Serana blinked and stared up at him, lips pursed tightly.

Apparently, he could sense she wasn't going to budge, so he sighed and turned away with a disappointed air. "Fine. I'm not going to push, I just…" he let out another sigh as he looked back at her, "just think about it…okay?"

She couldn't take her eyes off his hurt expression, her heart feeling like lead as she tried for words. Finally, she pursed her lips and managed, "Okay."

Ketar still looked disappointed, but nodded and made for their bedroom door, snatching up the discarded amulet on his way out. Frowning, Serana followed him to the steps and stayed right behind him.

"So," she said, trying to shift the mood, "what's the plan for today? Are we finally hunting dragons?"

He snorted. "Gotta take care of a more immediate problem first."

Serana arched an eyebrow as he set a pot of Lydia's lemon tea to brew over the fire pit. "Oh?"

Ketar nodded and smirked slightly as he stood up and headed for the exit. "All our hungover friends."

Serana immediately started laughing, the sound cutting off abruptly when he opened the door and the incoming sunlight glinted off something in the corner of her vision. Her body turned and paused just long enough to see the leather cord and metal of the amulet of Mara charring in the heat of the fire pit. She forced the frown off her face as she followed him out the door.

...

"I regret everything."

Ketar couldn't possibly hope to wipe the gigantic grin off his face as he sat at the counter of the Bannered Mare's bar, eyes fixed on Lydia's pale, bloodshot features. "This is the price you pay for being a raging alcoholic."

The fierce glare she threw him was robbed of all its effectiveness by the groan and heave she had to expend a _lot_ of effort to hold back. Brynjolf was on her other side, tending to her every need and handing her a sprig of ginger every so often to help with the nausea. Serana and Valerica were helping Agmaer out back. Being that he had built absolutely zero tolerance for strong drink, he'd taken to the aftereffects of last night's festivities much worse than Lydia, and was apparently emptying the contents of his stomach on a regular schedule, about once every five minutes or so.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Lydia groaned.

"Oh, we tried, _dear_ ," Ketar grinned. "You weren't having any of it."

She tried to glare at him again but ended up faceplanting on the counter and holding her head with her hands. Brynjolf's fingers gently threaded through her hair, and Ketar watched as little by little, Lydia's headache seemed to calm until she was practically purring at the attention. If he didn't know better, he'd have said she was a shapeshifting cat, and not human at all. The way she practically cuddled into Brynjolf's touch certainly lent credence to this theory. Ketar slowly shook his head as he slapped a stack of gold on the counter and gently took Lydia's arm, leading her toward the exit door.

"Come on," he said, "I've got lemon tea waiting back at home."

Lydia groaned softly and held onto him tightly. "Thank you, Kay."

"Hey, you take care of me all the time. I'm happy to return the favor."

She managed a small smile as Brynjolf took her other arm, the pair half-carrying her to Breezehome and sitting her down next to the fire pit. Lydia grabbed the mug Ketar offered her a moment later and greedily chugged down the lemon tea inside, coughing when some of it went down the wrong tube, but looking slightly less pale as her stomach began to settle. Kay moved off to get her something bland and see if she could keep something solid down. Brynjolf followed him into the kitchen and handed him something.

"This came for you at the inn," said the thief.

Ketar frowned as he looked down at the small envelope and tore it open. He unfolded the note inside, eyes widening when his eyes sped over the text. Excitement started stirring in his veins as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Oi, last time I saw _that_ look on your face, we were about ready to stick it to Maven. What's happening?"

Ketar folded up the note and kept grinning. "Delphine is finally coming around. She wants to meet and discuss the renewal of our alliance."

Brynjolf's eyebrows hiked upward. "That's good news. It is, right?"

"It's _very_ good news. Especially now that I'm finally on the warpath against Alduin."

"Where's this meeting taking place?"

"Riverwood, at an inn she used to own. It's where she first told me about the Blades."

Brynjolf nodded slowly. "Gonna bring your girl along?"

Ketar almost frowned, but played it off with an incredulous snort. "'Course I am. Unlike our girl back there," he nodded toward the fire pit, "she's not hungover."

He frowned. "Wait, this is happening today?"

Kay nodded. "Apparently she sent the letter a few days ago, expecting it to reach me today. It won't take long to get to Riverwood from here, maybe half an hour maximum. Soon as we've got Lydia and Agmaer settled in, we'll go."

"Well who's going to watch them? Because I've got a guild to run and bad news to break to Dirge."

Ketar frowned. "Right. Almost forgot about that."

Brynjolf eyed him carefully. "What do you want to do?"

He sighed hard. "After you explain our new circumstances, tell Dirge why his brother died, and if he asks who was responsible, just tell him the truth. He deserves that much."

"Are you sure, lad?"

Ketar nodded. "I'm sure. If he seeks vengeance, it'll be on my head, not yours."

Brynjolf tipped his head slightly. "All right. Consider it done."

They worked together in silence, preparing Lydia's bedroom with more ginger and a clean bucket to hurl into. In the middle of pouring her second mug of tea, Ketar heard the door of Breezehome creak open and turned to see Serana and Valerica actually dragging Agmaer across the threshold.

Ketar arched an eyebrow at them. "How bad is it?"

Valerica frowned and shook her head. "The kid's a complete lightweight. He was probably blacked out after his second tankard. Everything after that was just his body acting automatically."

"I don't know, mother," said Serana. "He looked pretty steady on his feet for most of the night."

"Then he just has an extreme reaction to what happens the morning after. Still makes him a lightweight."

Serana shrugged, conceding the point, and helped her mother lay Agmaer across the couch cushions, the Nord snoring loudly and mumbling in his sleep. Ketar smirked and shook his head as he helped Lydia to her bed and gently laid her down on her side.

"I'll be right back," he said softly.

Lydia nodded slowly as she squeezed her overly sensitive eyes shut and snuggled into her pillow.

Ketar made his way to Serana and held up Delphine's letter. "We have a new mission."

She blinked and looked up at him, her hand gently pressing a damp cloth to Agmaer's forehead. "What and where?"

"Delphine. Blades. Apparently, she finally wised up and figured out the secret of forgiveness, or at least I hope so."

Sera nodded slowly, patting the cloth against the unconscious kid's forehead. "When do we leave?"

Ketar's lips pursed as he looked around and spotted Valerica scoping out his book collection. "Valerica," he called, grabbing her attention as he strode over. "I hate to impose further, but could you keep an eye on these two? Brynjolf has business in Riften, and Sera and I have an important meeting to attend."

The elder vampire blinked and smiled, bowing her head slightly. "Of course. The garden will keep for another day or so without my hand, and I made sure to suspend all my experiments when I received Serana's call."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

She just nodded and resumed her perusal of his library.

Making his way upstairs, Ketar found his Guildmaster armor right where he'd left it and busied himself with the routine of putting it on in an attempt to dull his mind. Given how little mental effort it took to don his armor, he failed in this endeavor and could only distract himself for so long before his thoughts drifted to Serana and her outright rejection of his proposal earlier. There were no pressing matters at hand, no monsters to fight (except Alduin, and he wasn't exactly an urgent problem at the moment), and no scars to hold them back. True, the mental scars might not heal so easily, but that was something they could work through, right?

A pronounced sigh left his lips as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, finding it far more difficult with the insistently nagging hurt pounding in his chest. With a firm decision and sharp shift of thought, he tightened the last strap of his chestpiece and began the task of readying his weapons. Four ebony throwing knives went into slots in his armor, two on either side of his chestpiece. The Blade of Woe found its customary spot in a sheath at the back of his belt, along with the collapsed form of Zephyr, which was clipped to a spot just above the curved dagger. A quiver of ebony arrows was slung over his shoulder and secured just so to allow room for the dragonscale sheath of Dragonborn's Fury.

He made a mental checklist and began counting off everything he usually carried on his person. A fast blink preceded a glance down to his collarbone, which made him frown when he realized his neck was unadorned and remembered why. The gold amulet of Akatosh found its customary place around his neck, and a double-check confirmed his silver sapphire ring in its usual spot. One final check confirmed he was fully armed and armored, and then a thought occurred to him, and he opened the rift to retrieve something he'd been working on. The quiet thud of approaching steps heralded Serana's entrance into their bedroom as he affixed something around his shoulders.

Ketar couldn't help but smile at the way her jaw dropped when he lowered his hands and allowed the jet-black cloak he'd affixed to his armor to fall and flow behind and around him freely.

Serana cocked her head curiously. "Is that the cloak from—"

"The royal armor we found in Volkihar, yes."

She moved closer to inspect it. "I remember it being shorter."

He nodded. "That's because the original design folded the fabric in on itself, like interlocking scales."

"What's the advantage of this design?"

"Apart from keeping out the cold? It looks freaking awesome."

Sera arched an eyebrow.

He smirked. "And the material is tough and long enough to be used as a defensive measure. I could choke someone out with this thing, or use it to control their attacking arm."

She nodded slowly. "You ever actually tried that?"

He shrugged. "Well, I only brought it with me to kill that dragon in the mountains, so no. Couldn't exactly redirect its teeth or talons."

"Right." Her glowing eyes roved over his frame as she chewed her lower lip. "It looks good on you."

He smiled and rearranged the brooch that kept it in place. "Thanks."

Ketar made his way toward the steps, Serana in tow, and strode toward the exit. He cast one last look at his house, giving Valerica a parting nod before stepping out into the open air.

...

He was giving her the silent treatment.

True, he wasn't usually one for idle conversation, but even on a short twenty-minute trip to somewhere like Riverwood, Ketar was a little more vocal with her. This time? Not a word. Serana was trying very hard to remain objective and not read into it, but with the morning sunlight streaming down, she had to endure a constant physical irritation that exacerbated the negative feelings she already bore. Needless to say, by the time they reached Riverwood, she was in full passive-aggressive mode, and very much ready to get out of the open.

Serana leapt off the horse as soon as they came within sight of the tavern and proceeded to stomp her way across the village—alone—until she pushed open the door of the Sleeping Giant Inn. It smacked against the wall hard upon swinging open, catching the attention of most of the patrons for a moment, but holding the attention of one in particular. Serana pulled back her hood and shook her hair out as she proceeded into the inn and made her way over to a table occupied by a familiar blonde woman in leather armor. The aged katana sitting on her hip caught Serana's attention for a brief moment before the vampire took the seat across from her.

Serana crossed her arms and stared at the other woman for a while before one of them spoke.

"I remember you from Sky Haven Temple," said Delphine. "You're one of Dov's allies."

She arched an eyebrow. "Bit more than that, actually."

The other woman leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, I gathered that much." She frowned. "Did he just send you here?"

Serana shrugged. "No. I just didn't feel like waiting in the sun for him to catch up."

Delphine's lips pursed. "Right."

Sera allowed the silence to drag on for a while before rolling her eyes and asking, "What?"

Delphine shook her head. "Nothing. It's just that the last time we spoke, it sounded like he had less than a lot of love for vampires."

She smirked. "Who, not what."

"…I'm sorry?"

"He sees who you are, not what you are. Probably the biggest difference between him and most people these days. The Thalmor hate humans, Nords hate the Thalmor, vampires hate werewolves, most dragons loathe everyone. Nobody ever seems to look past the outside anymore." She snorted. "It's a lost art."

Delphine gave her a deadpan glare. "Did you come here just to insult me?"

Serana arched an eyebrow and gave her a wry smirk. "I'm just stating a general fact. If you connected it to yourself, that's _your_ decision."

The blonde winced and looked away.

Serana just smiled and leaned back in her seat. A concentrated frown came over her lips. "Last I heard, there were two of you. Where's your mentor?"

Delphine frowned. "Esbern isn't coming. He's a bit more hard-headed than I am. And infinitely more bitter."

Serana felt a presence at her side a moment before the bench she was seated on dipped slightly.

"A fact I'm well aware of," said Ketar.

Sera blinked. _I didn't even hear him enter._

Delphine straightened up and gave Ketar a nod of respect. "Dov."

"Delphine," he replied with a slight incline of his head. "I hadn't expected to hear from you."

Her lips pursed. "Yes, well…two months is a long time to think."

Ketar leaned forward and knitted his fingers on the table. "Talk to me."

Delphine looked between them and sighed hard, wiping a hand across her features. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you. The Blades' original purpose was to destroy every dragon in existence, because without fail, every single one of them was involved with the subjugation of mankind."

Ketar's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly. "But that's not true. And not just with Paarthurnax. Some dragons faded into obscurity, or left Tamriel during the war because they didn't want to be involved. Where they ended up, I can't say, but I've known more than one dragon who couldn't care less about ruling the mortal world. Often times, they accumulated power to protect themselves from other dragons."

Another sigh. "Dov, I know you want to see the good in others—"

"That has nothing to do with it. I've read their history, Delphine. I've _seen_ it. The fact is that much of what you believe about the dragons is biased propaganda, or misconceptions that have been marred and propagated by time and separation from the source material. It's one thing to stand by your beliefs. It's quite another to choose to remain ignorant of the truth just because it _contradicts_ your beliefs." His lips pursed tightly. "Or because it's easier to hold onto your hate."

Delphine's face twitched as she stared at the far wall.

Cautiously, he reached out and placed his hand on her clenched fist. "It's never too late to do the right thing, Del."

Her throat worked as her eyes slowly shifted back to him. "What would you ask of me?"

His shoulders broadened. "Let Paarthurnax go. Focus on stemming the tide of destruction. You want to slay dragons? Listen at inns, look at notice boards. All over Skyrim, there are marauding dragons making trouble."

Delphine threw her hands up. "That's just treating the symptoms! It's _not_ a long-term solution, Dov."

"I know. But ultimately, there's nothing you can do to fix the cause. That's why you came to _me_ , remember?"

She sighed and nodded.

"I get that your efforts feel insufficient, but trust me, for the people you help, it's a gift."

Delphine arched an eyebrow at him. "You want the Blades, once the protectors of the Emperor and the most adept dragonslayers in the world, to become knights-errant?"

Ketar shrugged. "Essentially, yes."

She frowned deeply. "Well, much as I hate to admit it, you were right in High Hrothgar. The two of us aren't nearly powerful enough to make a difference in the long run."

He smiled conspiratorially. "Then it's time to expand your horizons. Learn to trust people more. They'll find ways to surprise you, I guarantee it."

"So a recruitment drive of knights-errant. That's your plan?"

He nodded. "Basically. I'd help personally, but…" he smirked, "I've got slightly larger concerns."

Her eyes widened. "You're going after Alduin."

Ketar nodded slowly. "I think it's high time I cut the head off this wyrm. But once I strike at him directly, his dragons' attacks will intensify."

She nodded. "Like backing an animal into a corner."

"Exactly. That's why I need you and the Blades dispersing across Skyrim, seeking out his agents and destroying them. Just remember: not every dragon you come across is an enemy. Only strike against them if they strike first."

Delphine cocked her head and huffed. "You ask a great deal, Dragonborn."

Ketar stood and held her gaze. "Only because I know you can deliver."

The Blade frowned and rose from her seat. "You have a deal, Lord Dov." She held out a hand, her forearm gripped by him a moment later. "Just make damn sure the World-Eater breathes his last."

He nodded grimly. "I will. You have my word."

...

He noticed them before they were within eight feet of him.

Didn't get a good look, only a glance, but what he did see immediately put him on alert. Armored robes of strange design, with some sort of masks hiding their faces. There were only two, and one was clearly a woman, but the male was at the front and approaching _very_ aggressively. Ketar spun to face them right as he and Delphine were parting ways, and from the corner of his eye, he could see her lingering a short distance off.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, finally getting a good look at the strangers.

Their robes were a strange leathery brown and put together like a patchwork tapestry. Their armor was an unusual bronze metal, and comprising their right arm and left gauntlet, with boots of the same make. The masks were by far the most unsettling bit, made of some sort of etched bone and carved in the semblance of a horned skull. They had only daggers as visible weapons, but the way his instincts were flaring up, Ketar suspected they had something far more dangerous up their sleeves.

The male tilted his head partway to one side and asked, "Are you the one they call Dragonborn?"

His eyes narrowed under his hood, an unusually cold wind sending his cloak billowing behind him. "I am."

He could hear the sneer in the man's reply. "Your lies fall on deaf ears, deceiver! The True Dragonborn comes; _you_ are but his shadow. When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. _None_ shall stand to oppose him!"

The masked man drew his dagger in a flash and swung for Ketar's neck, a sharp snap of his head removing the vital area from harm's way. A hard palm-heel impacted his attacker's chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps and giving Ketar some breathing room. Two of the nearby guards attempted to intervene, but found themselves in the receiving end of the female's wrath, several spells impacting their bodies and sending them flying backward with some kind of electrostatic repulsion. Ketar cocked his head at that in curiosity, then shifted his body left when the man thrust his dagger toward his clavicle.

When the would-be assassin attempted to swing his outstretched blade, Ketar's hands flared with magic and conjured a tether that he used to block the blow, then wrap the man's wrist and use that point of contact to throw him over his shoulder. On his side, Delphine and Serana were closing in on the other assassin, Serana bombarding her at range with her spellcraft while Delphine moved in for the kill. The male assassin scrambled to his feet, but found himself laid out with a heel-kick to the chest. A snap of Ketar's tether wrapped the magic cable around his weapon, allowing him to yank it from the man's grip.

The assassin's left hand flared with fire, Ketar's sapphire ring glowing faintly as he used his hand to conjure a ward that dissipated the continuous spell. A few seconds in, Kay lunged forward and kicked his casting hand down, following it up with a snap of his left hand that smacked the assassin in the mask with his tether. A downward stomp to the face cracked the bone mask down the middle and rendered its owner unconscious. Behind him, the woman was being subdued by Serana, who had her in a painful double arm-bar and looked about a half-second from ripping her shoulders from—

" _Gaaaaaah_!"

 _There_ it was.

The female assassin slumped to her knees, arms falling limp at her sides while Delphine held the edge of her katana to her throat. Serana pulled her mask off, revealing a scowling Dunmer woman underneath, her deep red eyes attempting to bore holes into Ketar's face. Unimpressed, he slowly strode up to and knelt in front of her, head cocking slightly under his hood as he maintained a dangerously neutral expression. The nearby guards were visibly perturbed, and looked more than willing to concede jurisdiction to him. And no surprise either; he was still technically in Whiterun Hold. As Thane, they pretty much worked for him when he needed them to.

With that in mind, he nodded them off, at which point they split off to resume guarding the entrances of the town. Ketar's dark blue eyes slowly turned back to the crippled assassin, narrowing threateningly as his voice took on an ice-cold edge.

"Who the hell is Miraak?"

...

Thirty seconds in, Serana knew she wasn't going to crack.

It wasn't about Ketar's interrogation methods or that he wasn't asking the right questions. It was that this woman, whoever she was, was a complete and total bona fide fanatic. There was just something in her eyes, some madness, that seemed all-too-familiar. It was the same look she'd often seen in her father's eyes. Difference was, this Dunmer wasn't a vampire.

Seeing his rising frustration, Serana approached Ketar and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let me try something."

He looked up at her, jaw tight, and nodded stiffly as he stood and started pacing.

Sera shifted her gaze to the conscious assassin and narrowed her eyes, then pointed at her forehead with two fingers and hardened her voice. "Tell us about your master," she ordered firmly.

The Dunmer twitched and snarled, but said nothing.

Gritting her teeth, Serana poured more power into her compulsion and leaned in closer, her voice echoing as it had the previous day in Whiterun. " _Tell me_ about Miraak."

The woman began trembling, almost to the point of convulsions, but she remained silent.

Serana's eyes widened as a chill passed through her veins. "That's…worrisome."

Delphine frowned at her side, katana sheathed but with one hand ready on the hilt. "What is?"

"She's…resisting me."

Ketar stared at the assassin. "You mean to tell me this nobody assassin is strong-willed enough to fight your compulsion?"

Serana's lips pursed. "No, that's not it. I've overpowered strong wills before; this feels significantly different, and not just in strength."

"How so?"

She placed a hand on the woman's cheek and inspected her closely. "Vingalmo's thralls fought my control yesterday, and this seems similar, but… _far_ more powerful."

"So these two are just being controlled?"

She nodded and stood up slowly. "By someone or something strong enough to resist my will."

"The last time that happened was in Ruunvald three months ago, and Minorne could only keep you from taking over when she was standing next to her thralls."

"So either this Miraak is nearby, or we're dealing with something new…and _terrifyingly_ powerful."

Ketar frowned and patted down the unconscious male assassin's pockets. "This one mentioned a 'True Dragonborn,' whatever that means."

Serana frowned at his back. "You think there's another one out there? I thought you were the only Dragonborn to be found in centuries."

He shrugged. "The Greybeards certainly seem to think so." His features shifted slightly, and he cocked his head as he pulled a slip of paper from the assassin's robes. "What have we here?"

Serana leaned in and looked over his shoulder, her eyes parsing the sheet and the words scrawled on it in immaculate handwriting.

 _"Board the vessel_ Northern Maiden _docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Ketar Niel Dov before he reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased."_

Serana looked at the letter, then the two assassins, and stared. "Whoever sent them _really_ failed to do their research if they thought these idiots stood a shadow of a chance."

Ketar stood, frowning. "Or maybe that was the whole point. The handwriting and stationery of the letter are immaculate; speaks of education and wealth, and probably no small amount of intelligence."

"So?"

Delphine stepped forward. "So why would someone so intelligent mention the location of the ship their men rode in on _and_ where to start looking for the source?"

"And not also instruct them to burn the letter after reading it," Ketar added.

Serana blinked. "They _wanted_ you to find it."

He nodded. "This was a message, not an assassination."

"So this is a trap?"

Ketar shrugged. "We should probably assume so."

"…we're going anyway."

"You bet your ass we are."

"Why?" Delphine asked incredulously. "Alduin _has_ to take priority if the dragons are to be stopped."

Ketar frowned as he turned to the Blade. "I agree, but if this Miraak character really is Dragonborn, then he's either a potential ally or a _very_ dangerous enemy. And having two children of Akatosh actively working against me at once is a _very_ bad situation. At the very least, I need to find out what he's after and if I can convince him to help."

Serana crossed her arms. "He sent assassins to kill you."

He sighed and shrugged. "So it's a work in progress."

Her eyes rolled.

Ketar returned his gaze to Delphine and waved at the assassins. "Can you take these two to Whiterun?"

Delphine arched an eyebrow. "I'm a Blade, not a babysitter."

"It's a thirty-minute ride, Del. Maybe an hour if you're walking. Besides, if you're heading back to Sky Haven Temple, you have to go west anyway." His head cocked slightly. "And you might just have your first recruit if you stop by my place." He chuckled. "Assuming he isn't still too hungover to care."

Delphine's other eyebrow joined the first.

Ketar laughed and waved her off. "Long story. It was a busy day yesterday." His smile faded slowly as he turned to face the still-conscious female and crouched down to her level. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to part with the secret of that repulsion spell you used on those guards."

She remained tight-lipped.

"I figured as much." He sighed and pushed himself upright. "Anyway, we should get going. Windhelm is a bit of a hike from here."

"We're not getting provisions first?" Sera asked. "Solstheim is at least two days from Windhelm with an average wind."

He waved her off. "We'll get some on the way. I don't like the sound of this 'True Dragonborn' business one bit, and I'd rather not delay finding out more."

She sighed. "Fair enough."

Ketar turned back to the disgruntled woman in leather. "Delphine—it's good to have you with us again."

The older woman remained tight-lipped and stoic for a few moments before cracking a small smile. "Despite our differences, I will say this: I've missed watching you work."

He laughed at that, and Serana cracked a small smile.

"Then I look forward to showing you what I've learned in your absence," he said with a grin.

Delphine arched a curious eyebrow. "I can't wait. Safe travels, Dragonborn."

He tipped his hood and turned for the town's stables. "Likewise."

Serana followed him to the edge of Riverwood, and minutes later, they were on their way.

"Are you sure it's such a good idea, going back to Windhelm?"

Ketar looked back at her from the front of Stormbreaker's saddle. "Why not?"

Sera shrugged. "Well, the last time you were there, you kind of almost killed the Jarl."

"In an honorable duel of single combat that _he_ initiated. Even if the duel weren't abiding by traditional Nordic law, that could still be interpreted as self-defense on my part."

"Except he owns every guard in the Hold. What's to stop him from taking out his wounded pride on us with an army of them?"

"That very pride will prevent him from doing it. That, and he knows that even if his men _could_ hope to restrain or kill me, the resulting conflict would claim far more of them than he's willing to lose. Say what you will about Ulfric Stormcloak, but the one thing you can't accuse him of is neglecting his soldiers."

Serana nodded slowly, looking around at the snow-streaked tundra of Windhelm Hold. Sparse evergreens dotted the landscape, connected in some spots by the bare corpses of dead or felled trees. Recent snowfall was evident in the way Stormbreaker's hoofs sank into the road, and there was a thick fog over much of the path ahead. The air was just clear enough to reveal the silhouette of the imposing gray walls and parapets of Windhelm off in the distance. Ketar frowned and pulled his black hood a little tighter around his head, then pushed himself from the saddle and brought Stormbreaker to a halt just outside the city limits.

Serana arched an eyebrow. "Problem?"

He smirked and shook his head as he removed their provisions from the horse's saddle. "No, just want to try something."

She cocked her head in curiosity as she too dismounted and sidled up next to him. Ketar opened the rift and threw their ration pack in there, then took Stormbreaker's reins and whispered in the horse's ear. She just managed to pick up a few words spoken in a familiar language before Ketar pulled away and gave the horse an affectionate pat on the neck. Stormbreaker turned around and trotted off into the west.

Sera watched the magnificent beast go until he disappeared into the fog, then turned back to Ketar. "Do you always speak to him in dragon tongue?"

He blinked and smiled as they made their way toward Windhelm. "Only when I'm giving him orders. Ultimately, he answers to dragon speak above all else. He'll still take orders in the common tongue, but anyone who fluently speaks the dragon language immediately takes priority."

She hummed in thought and followed behind him quietly for a while. "Do you think you could teach me some?"

"Some of what?"

"The dragon tongue."

He turned to her with a flicker of surprise and no small amount of excitement. "Seriously?"

She smiled. "Seriously. I've always found it fascinating." Her smile turned mischievous. "And I'd love to know what you're saying when you and a hostile dragon start insulting each other."

Ketar let out a loud laugh, the first hint of unrestrained mirth he'd shown since his botched proposal that morning. Serana did a small happy dance in her head.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Now follow closely."

Serana's head tilted curiously as he suddenly broke off into a run toward the entering causeway of the city, which overlooked the harbor. She blinked once before picking up her pace to keep up with him, the black-clad pair emerging from the fog and speeding past the startled guards, their respective cloaks billowing in the backwash of their motion. Serana wondered exactly what he was playing at until he turned halfway across and lunged for the edge of the bridge. Her eyes widened dramatically when he horizontally leapt off the side into what was easily a five-story drop.

It wasn't that he hadn't taken such massive plunges before, but his insane leaps were typically accompanied by a frequently used Shout that was entirely absent this time. What she saw just a moment into his freefall sent her eyes widening to twice their usual size. Specifically, that his freefall wasn't a freefall at all, but a forward glide. And then she understood. Not only was the new, expanded design of his cloak more thermally insulating and attractive, but the expanded surface area increased its air resistance during freefall, which made the strain on its partial levitation enchantment significantly lesser.

Thus, what would've been a cushioned but pretty much straight-down fall was turned into a short descending flight.

Serana let out a long, hissing breath as she took a few steps back, then followed behind him with a powerful jump while pouring magic into her cloak. The sudden influx of magicka somewhat increased its power, but nowhere near the proportions he'd managed to increase his to. As a result, she landed quite a distance behind him, which she could barely tell because of the thick fog. All the same, Serana managed to keep track of him, and rushed to catch up just as he touched down on the edge of a pier. She slid to an abrupt stop at the sight of him.

He'd landed in a deep kneeling crouch, one hand on the pier with his black cloak pooled around him like large wings. His hood cast deep shadows over most of his features, only the tip of his nose and everything below it visible to the naked eye. When he slowly rose to his feet, she could feel a ripple of unease pass through everyone who was looking at him. The very aura he exuded was one of pure, terrifying power. Serana bit her lower lip as she forced herself to resume moving toward him, trying very hard to ignore the heat spreading throughout her body as she got closer.

 _Gods_ she wanted him so much.

There was something raw and primal inside her (most likely vampiric in nature) that ignited a bonfire whenever he did something like that, something that exhibited his immense potential and challenged the limits of what was believable. She loved him for far more than just that, but seeing him channel the power inside him was… _intoxicating_. Just like his blood. When she finally came to a halt at his side, she'd managed to rein in that primitive hunger and suppress most of the excess heat in her body. And then she saw him blink and groan softly.

"What?" she asked.

He pointed past the ship they were standing in front of to indicate another one. "Wrong pier."

Serana blinked once and immediately started laughing as he slowly shook his head.

And then he did things like _that_ , funny, adorable little things that reminded her how very human he was, and it only made her love him more. Ketar bit his lower lip a bit as he coiled up, then broke off into a sprint and leapt clear over the ship in his way to the other pier in a long jump that sent his cloak billowing behind him. Smirking, Sera followed right behind, not even needing her cape thanks to her vampiric physiology, and landed next to him as he strode across the gangplank of the ship.

The Nord crew took one good look at them before they resumed their duties around the ship with quite a bit of extra tension.

Ketar approached one of them and gave him a small nod. "I need to speak with your captain."

The crewmate gulped and pointed toward the stern of the ship, at a harried-looking Nord with blond hair who was conversing with someone else.

Ketar nodded to the crewmate. "Much obliged."

The pair made their way toward the captain, who spotted them halfway there and paled.

Seeing this, Ketar pulled back his hood and shook his hair out a bit. "Captain?" He stretched out his hand. "Ketar Dov."

The blond man looked at his hand for a moment before cautiously gripping it. "Gjalund Salt-Sage. Can I help you with something?" He glanced at Serana uneasily.

Ketar frowned. "I hope so. Does the name Miraak ring a bell?"

The Nord blinked. "Can't say it does. Why?"

His lips pursed. "Because earlier this morning, I was attacked by some manic cultist types who were spouting that name—with a note referencing your ship as a means of getting here."

Gjalund tensed up and held up his hands in surrender. "Now hold on! That wasn't my fault! I didn't know they were going to attack anybody." Serana watched as a fog appeared over his eyes. The captain frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't even know how I got here."

Sera blinked and knitted her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

He groaned softly. "It's…hard to explain."

Ketar's lips pursed. "Try."

Gjalund sighed. "I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then..." He winced, as if struck by a sudden headache. "Next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone." A flash of panic entered his eyes. "That's not _right_ , losing whole days like that. There's been something strange going on there for a while, but after this...I'm done. I'm not going back to Solstheim."

Ketar huffed and shook his head. "Yeah, well…you're gonna have to."

The other man blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I need to get to Solstheim immediately."

"Oh no. No-no-no were you listening? Whole _days_ just gone from my memory. It's _unnatural_ , I tell you."

"I'm well aware, and if you don't want it to keep happening to others, you're going to take me there so I can put an end to it."

Gjalund started laughing. "What are you, some kind of knight-errant?"

Kay smirked. "Something like that. Now are you gonna do it or not?"

The Nord frowned and looked between them. "Look…I'm sorry for your troubles, I really am, but…I have a family to feed, and so do the rest of these men."

Ketar blinked twice. " _Oh_." He chuckled. "Of course I'll pay for passage. I'm no freeloader, captain, and it isn't like I don't have the coin." He reached for his belt and pulled a small leather sack out, dropping it into the captain's palm.

By the look on Gjalund's face, it was a _lot_ heavier than he'd expected. The way his eyes widened when he took a peek inside confirmed that.

Kay smirked. "Will that suffice?"

The Nord lifted his gaze to look Ketar in the face for a brief moment, then whirled about and started shouting orders for his men to ready for cast-off. Serana smiled bemusedly and drew closer to Ketar, her voice near a whisper.

"How much did you give him?"

He shrugged. "No idea. I only ever fill that pouch by weight, but it's never failed to make an impression."

She chuckled and gently rubbed his arm as Gjalund returned his attention to his new passengers.

"I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Dov, and I guarantee my men do too."

Ketar tipped his head slightly. "Of course. If I'm not mistaken, it's roughly a two-day journey between here and Solstheim. Do you have any spare living quarters available?"

Gjalund snorted. "For that kind of coin? You can take _my_ quarters for all I care." He glanced between them and smiled a little. "There's room for two."

Serana grinned and said, "Perfect," before Ketar had time to protest, quickly grabbing his hand and hauling him toward a hatch that led below deck. "We'll just get settled in, if you don't mind."

He waved them off. "'Course not. Enjoy your trip!"

"We will!"

...

Despite Ketar's first grumbles about "imposing" on the captain, it soon proved necessary that they have the extra space. Minutes after Serana reminded him that he'd agreed to teach her the dragon tongue, he'd pulled a half-dozen tomes about three inches thick each from the rift, and she had to wonder what other miscellaneous crap he kept in there "just in case." Not that she was complaining, of course. The stuff he'd thrown into the rift had saved her life and his more than once—and even served to execute a powerful enemy.

Serana was leafing through one of the tomes he had pulled out, lying on the bed and kicking her feet absently. A small grunt at her side caught her attention as Ketar lifted a large stack of books and planted them on the captain's desk. Her raven eyebrows shot skyward.

"Seriously?" she asked. "All that just to learn—why?"

Ketar looked over at her and cleared his throat. " _Dovahzul_ is a dead language. Apart from the Greybeards and a few select scholars, no one even understands it anymore, much less speaks it."

"Soooo…"

He sighed and strode over to her, picking up the book in her hands and slapping it shut. "So it takes a primer, a dictionary of vocabulary in the original text, a side-by-side transliteration of the original text in common tongue, and a detailed tome on grammatical use."

Serana stared up at him, then glanced at the books, and back. "And the other two?"

Ketar blinked and restrained a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Those are my notes on all four from childhood."

Her eyes widened comically, and she stared at him for a second before half-yelling, " _Seriously_?! You went through the trouble of scaring me with twelve solid inches of dusty material just to find out you already parsed it?"

He chuckled and grinned cheekily. "Hey, at least I didn't teach you for a month first."

Sera's glowing eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare."

Ketar let out a manically gleeful series of giggles before grabbing one of his notebooks and plopping down next to her on the bed.

Serana shifted and snuggled into his side as he opened the book to the first page. She blinked when a folded sheet of paper fell out and landed on his chest. He tensed at her side, and she wondered at it even as she picked up the paper and slowly unfolded it, eyes widening when she saw what it contained. On the parchment, slightly yellowed by time, was a charcoal drawing of three people standing in front of a magnificent mountain backdrop.

Two, a man and a woman, were entirely unfamiliar to her, in strange plated armor lined with fur, with interlocking, overlapping armor plates over the chest and shoulders. They were both smiling widely, and had their arms around the shoulders of the figure standing between them. _He_ , on the other hand, was not smiling. Well, not exactly. It was more like the embarrassed exasperation of a child annoyed with their parents' antics. Which, if her guess was right, was entirely appropriate for this particular case.

Serana gently ran a thumb over the picture, lips parted slightly. "Kay…are these…Niel and Katja?"

A heavy, ragged sigh came from his throat. "Yes. I…I'd forgotten I had this."

She glanced over at him and couldn't help but see a deep sadness in his eyes. Slowly, she returned her eyes to the drawing and smiled at the look on a younger Ketar's face. "How old were you in this picture?"

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he thought for a moment. "I don't remember. Twelve? Thirteen? I'd just entered my more…rebellious stage, thus the look on my face."

She chuckled. "I noticed."

Ketar smiled a little and let out another sigh. "I miss them, Sera."

Serana frowned and looked over at him. "Did you ever think about trying to find Katja?"

He blinked and met her gaze for a moment before frowning and looking off to the side. "Have I thought about it? Yeah. But…I never could figure out how I'd go about it. We split up almost three years ago now, and I never knew where she was heading. I haven't the faintest clue where to start looking." He cleared his throat and took the drawing from her hands, folding it up again. "Besides, we have _slightly_ more pressing concerns at the moment."

She frowned deeper. "Kay…"

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he tucked the picture into the back of the book. "I just…I don't want to talk about it right now."

Serana rolled over and gently took the book from his hands, laying it on an empty space next to them. She climbed partway on top of him, eyes warm and a hint smoky as her gaze roved over his rugged features. Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper as she breathed in his ear. "We don't have to talk at all."

She felt a small shiver pass through his body and smiled widely as a result before leaning down and gently scraping her teeth over his neck. A sharp intake of breath entered his lungs as she drifted lower, the tips of her fangs leaving small scratch-marks in his skin. She paused at just the right spot to press a languid, wet kiss to a spot on his neck she _knew_ he loved, then whispered again.

"May I?"

He just managed to stutter out, "Of course."

With a long, slow inhale, Serana took in his heady scent and let it wash over her for a moment. Her top fangs gently punctured his skin a moment later, a rush of fiery warmth entering her mouth and running down her throat as her tongue laved his neck. She distantly felt his fingers tangle in her hair as his breathing became labored, a low hum of satisfaction and desire rumbling from her throat. Finally, she could feel the threshold of fullness approaching and slowly drew back, her teeth leaving his bloodstream and lips pressing there for a few moments as the small puncture marks sealed shut.

The fiery warmth of Ketar's dragon blood did something to her that she could never explain. Before, when she'd fed on anyone else, it wasn't much different than when lesser vampires did it: crude, a little messy, and it left a coppery residue in her mouth for hours. With him…not a single drop was left unconsumed. Even the first time he'd ever given her his blood, just days before their first kiss, he'd handed her a napkin to clean the leftovers off. She never told him it was absolutely unnecessary.

The moment he left the room, she'd lapped up the few drops still on her lips and felt a small rush of warmth flow down her throat even as she began to pass out of exhaustion. When she awoke minutes later, not a trace of his blood was detected. It was as if her body naturally absorbed it ten times better than anything else, and it had been that way every single time she fed on him. Not a drop ever went to waste. The only noticeable side effect, apart from the partial dragon traits, was the intense warmth and emotional connection she felt to him immediately after feeding as a result of their shared blood.

It had helped to calm his nightmares more than once since she'd discovered that particular link, though she'd never told him about it for fear he'd take it the wrong way. Now, in the emotional state he was in, she could feel his turmoil in vivid detail, every dreg and echo of pain he'd been setting aside for the past two years. Just one glimpse of that picture had opened a floodgate inside him, and she could feel how hard he was trying to keep it shut. Frowning and closing her eyes, Serana reached up to the other side of his face while she whispered in his ear.

"It's okay to miss them."

"…I know," he managed brokenly.

Ketar's arms curled around her body and held her close to his chest, his face buried in her shoulder and nose brushing against her neck. Something wet touched her skin, and it wasn't his mouth. She sighed softly and cradled his head in her hands as she gently rolled them over until he was effectively using her as a pillow. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly as their legs intertwined, his head laying against her breasts, ear to her heart. Serana almost laughed at that. A few months ago, he would've been too embarrassed by this particular position to hold it for long.

Now, though, he was holding onto her like a lifeline, not physically shaking or sobbing, but silently crying into her chest. To be honest, it hurt even more to watch. So she held him closer, lips pressing to the crown of his head as she stroked his hair.

They stayed that way long after the _Northern Maiden_ cast off to sea.

* * *

AN: Yay! Just a little over a week between updates. I'm glad I'm keeping my momentum going so far, though the next bit is gonna be…interesting. I'm gonna level with you guys—I wasn't a huge fan of the _Dragonborn_ expansion. I don't know why; maybe it was the stuff going on in my life at the time I played it, or maybe it was…I don't know. Either way, I found a lot of the main quests in _Dragonborn_ kind of boring, though mostly because the enemies you have to face have a _stupid_ amount of health for absolutely no reason at all.

I mean really, pouring half a quiver of ebony arrows into a Seeker's face isn't enough to bring it down? And they don't even hit that hard. They're just damage sponges that are annoying and needlessly durable. I guess it kind of makes sense, since they're Daedra and all, but still. ANNOYING. Anyway, you know that, as always, I'll be putting my own spin and flair on this, so hopefully I can make things a bit more interesting for all of us.

I can't really think of much to say about this chapter in particular. A necessary step to advance the story, surely, but apart from that not all that noteworthy. Except for the cloak. That was one thing I _really_ wanted to introduce in this story. He won't be wearing it all the time, but when he does, you know things are about to get serious.

Apart from that, I hope you enjoyed this latest entry and are looking forward to more.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Blindspot (Season 1) – And Now He's Gone: Ketar's proposal/Serana's reluctance/burning amulet

Daredevil (Season 1) – Avocados at Law: charcoal drawing/Ketar's grief/end of chapter


	6. The Temple of Miraak

It was the second day, when they were hours away from docking at Raven Rock, when Ketar stopped in the middle of a language lesson and asked it randomly.

"Why won't you marry me?"

Serana froze halfway through reading a sentence in Ketar's immaculate handwriting, sighing hard and looking up from the book to fix him with an irritated look. "Why are you insisting on it so much?" She snorted and slapped the book closed. "I mean seriously, I'm at _least_ twelve centuries older than you, and you're more old-fashioned than I am."

He grinned. "I _know_ , isn't it _fascinating_?"

She shot him a deadpan glare. "Facetious isn't a good look on you."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "To be fair, you didn't exactly _have_ a traditional childhood, you know…Daedra worship and all."

Serana sighed. "Okay, I'll grant you that. Still, your upbringing wasn't all that traditional either. Raised by the Blades to be an unstoppable warrior? That's not typical schooling."

"Neither was all the _Dovahzul_ or extended cultural studies they put me through, but the one thing they instilled above everything was an ironclad moral code."

"…that's it?"

Kay frowned and looked off to the side, chewing his lip. "No, I mean…yes…" a sigh, "there's a bit more to it than that."

Serana sat up in the bed, arms curled around her knees. "Okay?"

He absently began turning a dry quill between his fingers as he stared at nothing in particular. "Around the time that drawing was created," he motioned to the book at her side, "when I was just entering my teen years…well, you know, body development, hormones, that sort of thing. The one thing that people kept telling me to be ready for—and pretty much never came—was the desire for another person."

She frowned and tilted her head slightly. "So, not being able to feel anything along those lines…that started back then?"

"No, it—it's complicated." Ketar rolled his shoulders and resumed playing with the quill. "Physical desire was there, but…distant, muted. Like it was trying to reach me through a fog. And it was _unpleasant_ to boot, because there was no emotional connection to go with that desire."

"Sooo…what you're saying is—"

"I could tell what comprised an attractive female, but was not myself attracted."

"Gotcha. What does that have to do with your insistence on getting married?"

He scratched his head. "Well, the people around me kept telling me to put myself out there, to pursue a relationship with someone, _anyone_. They blamed my lack of emotional connection on my unwillingness to try for it, instead of acknowledging that I just wasn't interested. Everyone told me to get out there; some of the more…free-thinking Blades even suggested I go for a purely physical relationship. They never realized how much the very thought _repulsed_ me. Eventually, Niel came around to give me his advice, and for once, I found someone who understood my point of view.

"He told me that when I was ready, I would know, or at least feel something different and far more powerful than the discomfort I'd had to deal with so far." He snorted in amusement. "He wasn't wrong."

Serana smiled a little.

His lips pursed. "I made a promise to myself, to keep waiting for the right moment, for the right person, and that when the time came, there would only be one person who received the full depth of my affections." He turned to her with a warm gaze. "The woman I would marry."

Serana stared at him for a while, searching his eyes and finding only earnest truth. She nearly sighed at his almost childish stubbornness when something occurred to her. "Wait…"

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Her head cocked as she started crawling toward him. "That means…"

His eyes widened at her sudden proximity. "Y-Yes?"

She grinned from ear to ear. "We're good to go."

Ketar blinked. "Based on what?"

Sera smiled coquettishly. "You said it yourself. You'll only give yourself to the woman you'd marry. If you had the opportunity, you would absolutely marry me; you've made that abundantly clear." She leaned in close. "Doesn't mean you actually have to do it to make this work."

His eyes widened in realization a moment before his face sagged in irritation. "Sera, I'm not gonna sleep with you just because you found a technical loophole in the exact wording of my oath."

She rolled her eyes and pushed off him in annoyance. "And I'm not going to say yes just because you have a giant stick up your ass."

" _That_ felt oddly personal."

She whirled on him, eyes wild. "Kay, you are the most _infuriatingly_ gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on, and I want to see and touch _all of you_ , and you won't _let me_."

He stared at her blankly, eyes wider than usual.

Serana groaned softly in frustration. "Kay…" she approached him and gently laid a hand on his chest, "we both want this. I can see it every time you look at me. Why let a ring and a piece of paper get in the way of that?"

Ketar frowned and set his jaw. "Because I made a promise, Sera. I've never made a promise I didn't keep, even to myself; and I'm sorry, but I'm not about to start now." His lips pursed tightly. "Not even for you."

She stared at him for a while before faceplanting into his shoulder. "I know. And I love that about you…gods help me." She could feel his shoulders shaking with silent laughter and slapped his arm hard. "Stop laughing at me," she moaned miserably.

"I'm not laughing at you," he protested with a chuckle. "I'm laughing at the situation."

She drew back just enough to fix him with a narrow-eyed look. "Meaning?"

Ketar smirked wryly. "Well, isn't it usually the man whose desires are out of control?"

A sigh. "Fair point."

He smacked a brief kiss against her cheek. "This is a hell of your own making, love. It could all be over with one word…"

She gave him a look.

"…and a ceremony."

Her orange eyes rolled again.

Ketar chuckled against her neck. "I guess only time will tell whose will proves stronger."

Serana fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare, smirking deviously. "Is that a challenge?"

He blinked once, and she could see the horror dawning behind his eyes. "Oh gods…what did I just do?"

A giant, toothy grin was her only answer.

…

"Well, here we are." Captain Gjalund waved at the gray-stoned city in front of the _Northern Maiden_. "This is Raven Rock. Can't say I'm all that glad to see it again." He frowned and turned to Ketar. "Good luck. Maybe you can figure out what's going on around here."

Ketar tipped his head slightly as his eyes scanned the city. "I'm hoping as much. If I can't…something tells me you'll have more to worry about than hazardous passengers."

Gjalund shot him a look as they drifted into dock. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Hopefully nothing." Kay made his way toward the gangplank, stopping on the edge of the ship. "Though, I'd like to ask: can I count on you to supply us with passage back and forth from here to Skyrim?"

The captain frowned and stroked his beard for a moment. "The coin you paid us should keep us going for a while yet, so I suppose it's only fair."

Ketar arched an eyebrow and made his way back toward the Nord. "Well in that case—" he dropped another heavy pouch of coins into the man's hand, "—this should tide you over for the next month or so."

Ketar almost grinned at the look on Gjalund's face. The man's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull. He just managed to catch him muttering, "It'll hold longer than that," before he composed himself and gave Ketar a grateful nod.

The Breton turned to Serana and nodded toward the gangplank as he made his own way there. Halfway to the pier, he spotted an austere-looking Dunmer in official robes flanked by two guards in full armor made of what looked like hardened chitin approaching the ship. Ketar frowned and stepped across the gangplank, facing the Elf as he and his escorts came to a stop.

"I don't recognize you," said the Dunmer sternly, "so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions."

"Of course." Ketar cleared his throat. "I'm a scholar from the College of Winterhold, looking for any records on someone named 'Miraak.' Would you happen to be familiar with that name?"

A strange, familiarly foggy look came over the Elf's features for a moment. "Miraak...I...I'm not sure that I am."

Ketar's eyes narrowed. "Do you know anyone who might be?"

The confused fog persisted in his eyes. "I...I'm unsure. I swear I know the name, but cannot place it. I believe it may have something to do with the Earth Stone…but I'm not sure what."

"Earth Stone…is that a Nordic landmark here on the island?"

"Yes, a few miles northeast of here, on a peninsula. You can't miss it." His features hardened again. "However, before any 'investigations' can be conducted, I must remind you that you are in the sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws. Any questions?"

Ketar exchanged a look with Serana and shrugged. "Not really. Oh, there is one thing."

"Yes?"

"Do you have an able supply of horses?"

The Elf blinked.

He arched an eyebrow and smirked. "I can pay _very_ handsomely."

…

"Two thousand Septims? Is he _insane_?" Ketar huffed as he stomped his way through the muddy streets of Raven Rock.

"I was under the impression that was the usual running price in this economy."

He shot Serana a look. "For a hardy thoroughbred just past its prime, maybe." He pointed behind them without looking. "Not that half-lame mule he tried to peddle."

She shook her head with a grin. "Here I thought you had money to spare."

"I _do_. This isn't about money. It's about the principle. Even if I do have the extra coin, I'm not about to submit to highway robbery." He huffed. "Besides, that thing looked about as ready to keel over of a heart attack as gallop. Where we're going? What we're doing? Trust me; I did that creature a favor leaving it behind." A shrug. "Besides, it's not like the island is all that big, and we pretty much never get tired."

"Eh, still…I enjoy not having to watch my step and just let the horse do all that."

"…huh. I never took you for the lazy type."

Serana rolled her eyes.

They both fell silent as they approached the edge of the city limits, the terrain quickly becoming rocky and mountainous and overall drab gray. When they reached the top of the next hill, the view immediately beyond wasn't that much different, apart from a little extra snow.

Sera took one good look before commenting. "This…is so…boring."

"I was gonna say depressing." His head shook slowly as they began to descend. "Why would anyone ever want to live here?"

"I guess Solstheim is an acquired taste. People who've lived here a while must've adapted if they still want to call it home."

"Between the cold and the lack of color, I can't imagine why. Still, whatever floats your boat, I guess."

The rough terrain of Solstheim's western coast proved of little difficulty to traverse, but enough of their focus was occupied to keep them silent for a while.

"Hey Ketar?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you ask that assassin about the repulsion spell?"

"The what?"

She sighed. "The woman, back in Riverwood. You asked about her spell. Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Well, don't you already have enough spells in your repertoire?"

Ketar snorted derisively. "You can never have too many spells to choose from."

"But you only ever use your plasma bolts, telekinesis, wards, and that weird tether thing."

"That's because I normally fight with weapons, not just magic. Those are the easiest to trigger in a pinch, when I only have one free hand to work with."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"That woman used an electrostatic spell of some sort that sent two fully armored men flying fifteen feet back. Normally I can only pull that off with a concentrated burst of telekinesis or Unrelenting Force, so I'm curious how it works."

Serana smirked. "That reminds me: pretty smooth, how you handled that councilor."

"Hm?"

"'Scholar from Winterhold'? That was pretty good."

Ketar shrugged. "Well, it's not like I was lying. As Arch-Mage, I'm pretty much head scholar, and I've always been fascinated by history and the study of magic. If my hunch is right, we're probably about to deal with both."

"How so?"

"Remember what I told you at Alduin's Wall?"

"'Dragonborn business is more theory and guesswork than actual recorded fact.' Does that mean you actually believe what those drones were spouting?"

" _They_ certainly believed it."

"They were also being driven mad by whatever was controlling them."

"Fair point. Whether it's true or not is irrelevant, though. Something is seriously wrong with this place, top to bottom."

She tensed at his side. "So I'm not the only one who noticed the councilor's hesitation."

His head shook. "I could _taste_ the tension in the air as we walked through Raven Rock. The people here feel like they're walking around in a malaise."

"All the same, Delphine had a point. Is this really so critical that we can afford to put off confronting Alduin?"

"Serana, anyone or anything powerful enough to affect the minds of an entire island's population, even peripherally, is something that needs to be investigated. Neglecting a vague threat in favor of something more obvious opens up an entire world of possibilities, and _all_ of them are bad. Until we can confirm or disprove the existence of another living Dragonborn, we have to consider the possibility that this Miraak may very well be a major contender in the dragon conflict. At the very least, we need to determine just how much danger we're in, especially since he seems to be targeting me specifically."

"Which raises another question entirely."

"Eh?"

She threw him a wry smirk. "Just how famous _are_ you that he heard about you all the way from Solstheim?"

"…seriously? _That's_ your concern?"

"What? It's a valid question."

…

At a glance, the Earth Stone seemed extremely similar to the various magical constellation pillars scattered across Skyrim. This one, however, sported a more crystalline appearance, and had its peak encircled by a gray stone ring buttressed on three sides by arches of the same material. Even without being touched, it was faintly glowing green all along its length. Nearby were two wooden scaffolds that seemed out of place, to say the least, as did the numerous figures moving around the Stone.

Ketar frowned a bit as he and Serana approached the site, his fingers twitching at the stink of magic in the air. What he heard once they got close enough made him even more uneasy.

" _Here in his shrine_ _  
That they have forgotten;  
Here do we toil  
That we might remember._"

Serana gripped his hand tightly, staring in blank horror at the vacant look in their eyes, Nord and Dunmer alike. "Kay…this is…"

"Wrong," he finished darkly, his fingers tightening around hers. "Just like those assassins."

"Except more mindless."

"Exponentially," he agreed.

The entranced people just kept hammering away at the arches and heavy stones they were moving into place around the Stone as their chant continued.

" _By night we reclaim  
What by day was stolen.  
Far from ourselves  
He grows ever near to us._"

Ketar turned to Serana. "Is there any way to snap them out of it?"

Her lips pursed as her head shook slightly. "I have no idea. Even with the Bloodstone Chalice, I've never seen mental domination this powerful or absolute."

"Fascinating."

The sudden interruption of the new voice prompted Ketar to whirl around and draw the Blade of Woe in an instant, grabbing a red-clad figure by the collar and holding the edge of his knife against the man's neck.

The Dunmer he'd caught and was currently threatening simply blinked at him and cocked his head curiously. "You don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. _Very_ interesting." His lips pursed tightly. "May I ask what it is you're doing here?"

Ketar frowned and narrowed his eyes, slowly drawing back his dagger and cautiously releasing the Dark Elf. "I'm looking for someone."

He waved at the mindless civilians around them. "Any faces look familiar?"

The Dragonborn sighed as he slid the Blade of Woe back into its sheath. "No, not one of them. His name is Miraak, and if I'm right…he's responsible for all this."

The Dunmer frowned and tapped his lower lip in concentration. "Miraak…Miraak…it sounds familiar, and yet I can't quite place..." His red eyes widened suddenly. " _Oh_. Wait, I recall." He frowned again. "But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years."

Ketar exchanged a look with Serana before facing the Elf again. "The two assassins he sent to kill me would disagree with you." He waved at the drones. "And so would they, it seems."

The other man arched an eyebrow. "Well…that's quite unexpected. Perhaps Miraak isn't as dead as history would have us believe. Perhaps those two were simply deceived into believing they were following an ancient legend. I'm afraid I can't give you any conclusive answers on that front." He turned and waved eastward. "But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there."

Serana frowned at his side and crossed her arms. "Who are you, and why aren't _you_ being affected?"

The Dunmer cleared his throat and straightened up. "I am Neloth, Wizard-Lord of House Telvanni and likely the greatest wizard you will ever meet." He smiled arrogantly. "Who else do you think could create a staff enchanter?"

Serana snorted disdainfully and rolled her eyes.

"And what exactly is your interest in what's happening here?" Ketar asked cautiously.

"Why, purely academic, of course," he replied. "Rarely does one ever get the chance to observe an event of such mass mania firsthand."

Ketar stared at the mage blankly. "You don't care about these people at all, do you?"

The Dunmer blinked. "Does caring for them make me a better wizard? No? Then I will continue to avoid that mistake." He picked at his nails and cast a glance at the Stone and its workers. "A shame one of my own assistants fell prey to this. Useless man. He could have at least _tried_ to record his experiences before losing his mind."

Kay could feel his fingers still twitching, though no longer at the thick aura of magic hanging in the air. They were itching to strangle. With barely restrained irritation that was further holding back anger, he managed to curl his hands into fists and not around Neloth's neck as he turned east.

"Thanks for pointing us in the right direction," Ketar managed evenly.

"Hm? What? Oh. Yes, yes, of course. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be left to my work."

Jaw clenching, Ketar nodded stiffly and stomped off into the east, followed closely by Serana.

A few minutes later, when they were out of sight of the Earth Stone, she frowned up at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" Ketar's hands fisted again, "…no."

"Is it that Neloth character? You just met."

"I know…and I know I shouldn't be so worked up about a complete stranger, but…he just…" his upper lip twitched, "reminds me of Ancano."

Serana blinked. "The Thalmor who tried to steal the Eye of Magnus?"

He nodded. "He has that same arrogant, self-centered aura. Cold, callous, uncaring. I wanted to shank Ancano from the first day we met, and this Neloth guy is giving me the same urges."

Her eyebrows rose. "Is that just a personal pet peeve or are those your 'instincts' talking?"

Ketar arched an eyebrow at her. "You say that like the two are mutually exclusive."

She snorted in amusement. "Okay, good point. Still, a 'staff enchanter' doesn't sound like something attainable by the untalented."

"I never said he was lying about his abilities, Sera. It just irks me whenever someone powerful lords it over everyone else around them."

She sighed hard. "I'm afraid that's just the way most of the world works, love. Some people just don't know how to properly handle power."

"…yeah. I noticed."

Her fingers knitted through his as he silently brooded all the way to the temple.

…

Ketar _heard_ her long before he saw her.

"You must fight against what is controlling you! We must leave this place! Ysra, can you hear me? You must leave this place!"

Ketar's head cocked as he frowned at the sight of a heavily armored blonde woman running around the temple grounds, trying to (unsuccessfully) talk sense into the various dead-eyed people bustling about. As if the entranced throng wasn't worrying enough, the temple's approach had been even more unsettling.

 _So many skeletons…_

One dragon skeleton after another had littered the sloped road to reach the summit of Miraak's temple, which was an expansive arched structure of nightmarish gray and black stone, and mostly in ruins at that. Like at the Earth Stone, however, there were various scaffolds and tools scattered about, and the entranced Nords and Dark Elves were attending to them. Ketar's fingers twitched uncontrollably, even more intensely than at the Earth Stone.

"You there."

His gaze snapped to the armored woman, who was approaching him and Serana with firm steps.

"What brings you to this place? Why are you here?"

He frowned. "Long story. It involves brainwashed assassins. You?"

The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked between him and Serana. "I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people…or avenge them."

Serana looked around at the enthralled humans and Elves. "These are all your people?"

Frea sighed. "No. Only most of them. The Elves are from Raven Rock, most like; or perhaps Tel Mithryn. All are affected."

Ketar's head cocked partway. "Affected by what? Do you know what this is?"

Her head shook. "I am unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim." She waved at the temple and scaffolding. "It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible."

"Not according to those assassins I mentioned. Two cultists attacked me in Skyrim, claiming to be operating on his orders."

A dark look passed over Frea's features. "Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us." She glanced at Serana briefly before refocusing on Ketar. "Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below."

With an exchanged glance, Serana and Ketar followed behind Frea as she descended a set of semi-circular steps into a curving hallway that was dimly lit by the clouded noonday sun. That sunlight just managed to illuminate a familiar bone mask moments before a lightning bolt streaked out from the darkness. Ketar rolled to his left, the magical strike lancing over his shoulder as his hands summoned an ice spell. He released it into the ground in front of him, the stream pouring from his hands sloping upward as he moved his hands accordingly and forming a full ice wall between them and the attacking cultists.

Several more electric attacks slammed into the ice wall, the energy starting to crack it, but otherwise doing no damage as he pulled Zephyr from his belt and drew back an ebony arrow. He popped from cover and released an arrow into the upper leg of one cultist, noting that there were two currently accosting them. Frea charged forward with a loud cry, two axes at the ready, one appearing to be made of the same metal as her armor, the other of some form of…was that _ice_?

Whatever it was, it was every bit as effective as her other axe, if not more so, seeing as how her first strike caved in the mask of one cultist, and her second cleaved the cheap iron blade of the other's short sword in half. Ketar's left eyebrow took an upward hike as he saw a dark blur pass his right side, Serana's hooded form pinning the last cultist to a wall by the neck. She used that point of contact to choke-slam him into the ground, knocking the wind and consciousness out of him. Ketar stepped around the ice wall he'd used for cover and reached down to pull the live cultist's mask off, revealing a young Nord man underneath.

"What are you doing?" asked Frea. "Finish him and be done with it."

He frowned and stood back up. "I don't think these people are in control of their actions any more than those outside."

"They are armed and trying to kill us."

Ketar shot her a look. "And if your people turned their tools on us instead of the stones?"

Frea's lips pursed tightly.

"I thought so." He strode past her, toward a black stone door at the far end of the passage. "From here on out, when it comes to them," he jerked a thumb at the cultists, "no killing."

"That gives them the advantage."

"Perhaps," he smirked, "but I love a good challenge."

…

Serana couldn't help but throw the cantankerous Nord woman frowns every other second, for several reasons. First, she was being…dismissive of Sera, as if she were just the hired help and not Ketar's partner and lover. Second, and most importantly…

"Why aren't _you_ controlled?"

Frea blinked and snapped her attention to Serana. "There are a few of us left unaffected by this curse. My father Storn, the shaman, protects them in the village." She reached beneath the collar of her black fur-lined armor to pull out a carved bone totem with a milky green stone in the center. "I fashioned this amulet to guard me against whatever has taken hold of the Skaal, but it is the only one of its kind. If I cannot find a way to save them, then there is no hope for my people."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "You have some talent in magic."

"Not precisely. The shamanic tribesmen of the Skaal are versed in many things lost to time or 'modern' medicine and magic. By focusing the power of the island's Stones and the blood of our ancestors, we can create effects rarely attainable by other means."

"If you wouldn't mind," Ketar said, "I'd like to have a look at that amulet a little later, to see if I can duplicate its effects."

Frea smiled. "I appreciate your intentions, but as I said, it is the only one of its kind."

Serana put a hand on her arm. "Trust me, if anyone can figure out how that thing works, it's him. He's the Arch-Mage of Winterhold."

Frea blinked and threw Ketar a curious look. "Really? One so young?"

"I know. It took me off-guard too, but he's a real wizard with all types of magic."

The Nord chewed her lower lip and thought for a while. "Very well; I'll consider it."

Ketar gave them a small nod before pushing open a set of double-doors. At a glance, this "temple" appeared no different from the various Nordic ruins scattered across Skyrim, with its mossy gray stones and burial urns scattered everywhere in various states of structural integrity. When Serana looked at Ketar, though, she knew something was off.

His fingers hadn't stopped twitching since they entered.

It got to the point where even she could feel something off in the air, and that feeling only intensified the deeper they got. Two more cultists had attacked on their way in, and though it seemed to take significant effort on her part, Frea respected Ketar's wishes and dealt with them non-lethally. It probably helped that she was arrayed in at least forty pounds of heavy armor and fur, which made her own body the perfect bludgeon for knocking them out.

The long stairs beyond the doors led down into a large open atrium with two levels, one ringed platform where they entered with curving stairs leading to the lower level in the center. Two crossing arches sloped up from beside the top of the steps in the center, like the structure outside. Apparently Miraak loved his arches. And Draugr. Three of the undead creatures awoke upon their entry, and Frea gave a small cry of elation as she charged toward the closest one, hacking away with her axes. Serana's head tilted curiously as Ketar split off toward the opposite side of the room, Zephyr at the ready and swinging as another Draugr drew a warhammer from its back. His first blow nearly snapped its neck, and stunned the creature long enough for him to kick it back and put an arrow in its eye-socket.

Serana made for one of the arches, sprinting up its surface and using her vantage point to scan the room for other targets. One, an undead archer, revealed itself on a dead-end platform at the top of another set of stairs on the far side of the atrium. It received two lightning bolts to its armored chest a moment later, followed by a straight throw of her Elven dagger, which buried itself in its neck. A long jump to its platform brought her within range to tear its perforated neck asunder and rip its head clean off with her bare hands. A flick of her wrist threw the black blood from her blade before it returned to its sheath.

"Everyone okay?" called Ketar from across the room.

"Fine here," Sera replied, making her way back toward them as Frea sheathed her axes.

The trio stood at the top of a set of stairs leading to the lower level, Ketar frowning at the single darkened passage below.

"Well…in for a penny…"

He leapt down a moment later.

…

"What's the Tree Stone?"

Frea's blue eyes flashed with surprise and no small amount of incredulity. "Seriously? Now?"

Ketar shanked a Draugr with the Blade of Woe, a sustained fire spell bathing another in flames and forcing it to backpedal or be reduced to ash. "I'm multitasking."

Serana had to smirk at that.

Frea, meanwhile, shook and snapped her head away from a pickaxe wielded by another cultist, planting a firm metal boot in his gut, then following it up with a clothesline that laid him out flat.

"I'd assume it's the same as the Earth Stone," Ketar added mid-roll as he punched his knife up into the gut of another undead.

"Aye," she replied, "an ancient stone of power, a connection to the All-Maker. It represents one of the aspects of nature, a part of the All-Maker's creation."

Serana twirled her body between two sword-slashes and tackled one of her attackers into a spiked wall. "The All-Maker being?"

"The creator of all living things, and the one who returns life taken to life on Nirn, reborn as something new and useful."

Ketar grunted as he shoved an undead off his blade and into a strike by another Draugr. "Interesting concept."

"The stones help us live in harmony with the land, instead of exploiting it as some would." Frea yelled as she brought both her axes down on a Draugr, caving in its head and rendering it inert. "There are…other stones around Solstheim." She checked around the room, confirming all enemies destroyed. "I fear for what has happened to them."

Ketar wiped his blade off on a rag torn from one of the corpses. "Okay, say you're right, and this All-Maker takes care of the Skaal. What would it take for his will to be overridden?"

Frea's lips pursed. "Little short of the interference of another god would do such a thing. I shudder to even _think_ of it."

Serana frowned. "What about a Dragonborn?"

The Nord blinked twice and turned to face her. "Well…if they truly are the spawn of Akatosh, I suppose it's possible. Why?"

Ketar stepped toward them, sheathing his dagger. "Because we believe Miraak may be Dragonborn."

Frea's eyes widened. "What? By the All-Maker…it makes a terrible kind of sense."

"Why?"

She waved them toward a passage leading deeper into the temple. "Miraak's tale is one old as Solstheim itself. He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did; he was a priest in their order. But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly. The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it."

"And there's no way a mere dragon priest would have the audacity to defy his masters in such a way if he didn't have a distinct advantage."

"Exactly. I don't know if it's true, but it would make a great deal of sense."

Ketar's face darkened. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Frea blinked. "What is it to you? And why would Miraak want you dead, if he _is_ behind all this?"

"Because Ketar is the only one who can stop him," Serana replied.

Another confused blink.

"He's Dragonborn too."

"…"

…

"If Miraak designed this place to tire his enemies so that by the time they reached him, they'd be too exhausted to fight…he succeeded."

Serana huffed in agreement and took Ketar's hand as she hauled him from a stone he'd used as a chair.

It had been trap after undead after cultist the whole way down, with no end in sight. In the last ten minutes alone, they'd torn through well over a dozen heavily-armored Draugr, knocked out almost as many cultists, and survived a trap involving oscillating guillotines. If this kept up much longer, Ketar would be completely out of energy, and Serana right behind, even with her stamina.

"It cannot be too much farther now," said Frea. "I feel it in my bones."

Serana nodded in reply and helped her lover stand. Once Ketar recovered his footing, they proceeded through another door that opened into a large room with a dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling—and a Word Wall on the far side.

"I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult," said Frea, "but to display the remains in such a manner as this..." She shrugged. "It is no wonder the dragons razed his temple to the ground. Seeing the remains hung up like trophies must have enraged them to no end."

"I'll say this for him," Ketar remarked as he approached the Word Wall. "He certainly had a knack for pissing people off…myself included."

Frowning, Ketar's eyes roved over the Wall, widening when he realized the portion that was calling out to him.

 _"All praise glorious Miraak, most powerful servant of all Dragon Priests, whose strength was granted by the gardener of mankind." Strength…_ Mul _…oh gods…_

He had no time to think on it further, as a vertical coffin to his right broke open, revealing a massive Draugr in full iron armor stepping forth, a runed greatsword in his hand. At least twice the bulk of previous undead adorned his rotting body, and the runes on this particular weapon weren't the typical blue or red, but a pale, sickly green. The very sight of it made Ketar uneasy, which, in this place, didn't seem uncommon; but to be so affected just by looking at a weapon…

" _Fus_ —"

Ketar's eyes widened as he dove left and tackled Frea into a storage room on their side.

"— _Ro-Dah_!"

The Draugr's raspy, rotted Voice carried through the confined space, a wave of kinetic energy sweeping through the space they'd just occupied and slamming into the far wall. Ketar coughed twice as the dust of shattered stone pervaded the air around him, looking down to see Frea's wide eyes locked on his face.

"You okay?" he asked, pushing himself partway off her.

She blinked twice. "I-I am."

Ketar nodded sharply and rolled off her, his right hand immediately snapping to the hilt of his sword and sweeping it from its sheath with a pronounced _shing_. As soon as the dragonbone blade cleared its sheath, he launched himself back into the main room, seeing Serana already entangled with the Draugr, her sword locked against his. The undead's horned helmet snapped forward, attempting to stab Serana with its adornments, but she palmed its armored forehead halfway and shoved it back. She followed with a two-handed swipe at its neck, the blow deflected off one of the Draugr's gauntlets.

Ketar lunged forward when the Draugr swung his pommel for Serana's jaw, the vampire deftly ducking and rolling away as soon as she saw her lover coming. The Dragonborn's first stab was shunted aside and countered with a blunt punch with the greatsword's cross-guard. Ketar managed to stop it by bracing his left gauntlet against the hilt of the large sword and locking his stance in place, though the impact actually managed to send him skidding back a step or two. He ducked his head away from two falling diagonal strikes and dive-rolled to his right when the Draugr took a step backward and pivoted his body in a 360 arc, sweeping his massive blade through the entire space.

Ketar's quick maneuver managed to hurl him just over the greatsword's deadly arc, his body so close he could actually feel the wind passing off the edge of the blade. As soon as his feet planted on the ground, Ketar broke off into a run and dove again, sheathing his sword and drawing Zephyr on the way up. His cape flapped in a downward arc as he whirled toward his target, an ebony arrow already drawn back. To his right, both of Serana's hands glowed with magic—ice and lightning, if he had to guess—as she prepared to bombard the creature with everything she had. A whizz of air from the Draugr's right side—the side with the storage room—preceded the rapid end-over-end entry of Frea's curious ice axe into its right shoulder.

Frea herself charged through the doorway with a cry a second later, left hand bearing her Nordic steel axe and swinging toward the Draugr's shoulder as if to make the hole she'd just made even wider. He realized a split-second later that that was her exact intention—to sever the arm—and unloaded two arrows into the creature's knees in rapid succession to cripple it. Apparently that wasn't nearly as effective as he'd expected, as the accursed thing still turned with inhuman speed and caught Frea's axe on his blade. Serana, taking advantage of his turned back, bombarded the Draugr with lightning, his iron armor smoking with the electric current running through it.

The magical impact stunned the creature long enough for Ketar to plant another arrow in its body, at the base of its neck. Still, it kept moving, and drew in a breath that charged the air with the power of the _Thu'um_.

Ketar's eyes widened. "Frea, the arrow!"

The Nord woman cast him a wide-eyed glance before spotting the ebony arrow stuck in her enemy and reaching over with her right hand to yank it free. The gore-stained missile was shoved down the undead creature's gullet a second later, preventing him from releasing his Shout and likely shattering Frea's body in the process. An armored shin-kick from the blonde drove one of Ketar's arrows further into the Draugr's knee, finally managing to collapse it. A snap of her right arm tore her icy axe loose and allowed her to behead the powerful undead with a cross-stroke from both her weapons. The creature's armored head rolled away from the kneeling body with a spurt of black blood from its neck, the rest of it collapsing a moment later.

Ketar let out a long breath and let his bow go slack, returning the arrow to its sheath as he approached Frea and put a hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Frea looked up at him and smiled. "Aye. Saved by you once again."

He gave her a nod, then removed his hand and cast the room a look. "You didn't see another passage in that storage room, did you?"

"No, but I wasn't exactly looking."

Ketar frowned and stared at the hanging dragon skeleton, his head cocking and eyes slowly drifting downward until they found the Draugr's open coffin. His blue eyes sparkled for a moment before going down to the coffin's now-dead occupant and locking on a separate iron object. He crouched and pulled a black key from the corpse's belt, standing and making his way toward the coffin with his female companions at his back. Ketar reached forward and slipped the key into a dusty hole just the right size, turning it ninety degrees and hearing a pronounced click from the locking mechanism.

"Tricky little bastard," he remarked. "Miraak must've been more paranoid than the Dwemer to have designed his temple this way."

"Considering how many enemies he made," Serana remarked, "I'd say some of that was justified."

Ketar hummed and nodded as he pushed the secret door open with some effort. Apparently it hadn't been opened in quite some time. The area beyond was a faintly lit dining area with two corpses seated at the table and another door at the opposite end. This too was locked, though the key he'd retrieved from the Draugr gatekeeper fit this one as well. As they made their way through the wide, open corridors beyond, it became apparent that this area of the temple had, at some point, been a place for communal gathering and comradery.

Ketar had to wonder what this place had looked like all those ages ago, if perhaps Miraak had had friends here before he went off the deep end. His mind flashed with images of Lydia, Brynjolf, and the others who'd celebrated with him at Jorrvaskr just days earlier; seated around the various stone tables and fireplaces. A frown adorned his lips as they pressed forward, from one winding path to another, even having to activate a few _more_ secret doors on the way in. Finally, they arrived at the bottom of a staircase, with a room made up of more of those strange arches and a shallowly ascending set of stairs going straight forward and up in two lanes.

At the far end, barely illumined by various braziers and torches scattered about, were no less than half a dozen Draugr already armed and at the ready. Two had bows, and took up the rear, at the top of a steeper set of stairs on the opposite end of the room. At the bottom of those stairs were four more Draugr, two in each lane; the front ones armed with axes and shields, the rear bearing long pikes. The archers up top knelt down and drew back their ancient bows, loosing their missiles and forcing the trio to take cover behind the nearby arches. Ketar drew back his bow and popped out of cover to return fire on the archers, forcing them to also take cover before he sent several arrows toward the lower Draugr.

The forward Draugr raised their shields and deflected the incoming missiles with ease, but Ketar didn't let up for a second as he nodded his companions forward. Frea and Serana charged toward the enemy on opposite lanes, Serana running a great deal faster as expected and nearly sprinting headlong into a pike that was suddenly thrust past the body of the forward Draugr. She leapt and deftly twist-flipped over the strike, landing in a crouch behind the pike-wielding rear Draugr. Her Elven dagger came up to stop a falling strike with the blunt end of the creature's spear, her left hand grabbing the shaft and using it as an anchor point to lunge forward and slash at its neck.

Ketar moved out from cover and strode toward the enemy as he drew back one arrow after the next, reapplying pressure on the topside archers when they tried to take potshots at Serana and Frea, who was using her dual axes to great effect, hammering and chipping away at one Draugr's shield while periodically deflecting the other's pike. Frea got the idea to use the pike-wielding Draugr's companion as a walking shield, constantly keeping it between them and shifting around while not letting up on the shield for a moment. Ketar reached back to his quiver and let his eyes widen when his fingers touched empty air.

A hard breath exited his lungs as he collapsed Zephyr and lunged forward, sprinting across the gap and spotting the undead archers leaving cover unopposed. Running atop one of the arches, Ketar channeled magic into his cloak and leapt for the top of the stairs, clearing over twenty feet of distance and landing between the archers with a forward roll that swept him under their crisscrossing shots. The Blade of Woe cleared its sheath as he regained his footing and spun toward his enemies, his first strike caught on the arm of one's bow as the other came in with an underhanded arrow stab.

Ketar's body pivoted right as he ducked under his knife's point of contact with the enemy bow, his unoccupied left hand coming up to stop the other's arrow-armed wrist. As soon as he'd arrested that arm's movement, his hand left the Draugr's wrist and snapped its arrow in half, the arrowhead-adorned half in his grip and stabbing back and up into its right eye. He kept turning in the same movement, spinning into a crouch and underhandedly stabbing the Blade of Woe into the back of the half-blinded Draugr's knee. A firm kick to his chest by the other laid him out on his back, and he coughed hard as he jarringly hit the stones.

His eyes fluttered closed for just a moment as he caught his breath, looking up at the two undead, one kneeling in pain, the other drawing back an arrow and pointing it at his face. Dark blue eyes widened to twice their normal size when a sudden flash of something pervaded their vision.

 _Their faces…_

In the space of a split-second, the two undead monsters before him had turned into pale-skinned human beings, Nords by the look of it. One sported light brown hair, the other almost platinum blond. Both were young and adorned with various scars. Still in their positions, the two were staring at him with resolute aggression, the one on the left releasing an arrow as Ketar snapped back to his senses and barrel-rolled to his right just in time for the missile to dig into the stones and not his chest. Upon climbing to his feet and facing the enemy, he blinked several times, each time the vision of his aggressors shifting from undead to human.

While one yanked the Blade of Woe from his knee and the other readied another arrow, Ketar's eyes briefly drifted to the battle below, the breath leaving his lungs at what he saw. Every single Draugr flickered with a human face, each different than the last. All were impossibly lifelike, and somehow he knew this wasn't just a trick of the eyes. Something about this place, with the insufferable thickness of magic hanging in the air, allowed him to see them for what they truly were: men, corrupted by time and the curse of undeath. They had served Miraak in ancient times as his soldiers and bodyguards; perhaps—he suspected—they had even been his friends at one point.

Unbidden, as he looked back to the archer, he saw Lydia's face flash over the man's and froze for a moment. Gritting his teeth, Ketar forced his body to move, lunging left and narrowly avoiding being skewered in the shoulder as he spun and drew two ebony throwing knives from his chestpiece. They found their places in their respective targets a moment later, the Draugr reeling in pain and flashing to their human forms again, their faces twisted in agony as they gripped the hilts of the knives. Ketar's jaw clenched as he unsheathed Dragonborn's Fury and lunged forward, shunting one's bow aside when he tried to block and beheading them both in the reverse swing.

A pronounced hiss filled the air as the blessed blade tore through their necks, his left hand erupting in electric discharge as he readied a plasma bolt that blew through the neck of Frea's pike-wielding opponent. Every time he blinked, they changed back and forth from human to Draugr, their lifelike expressions utterly incongruous with what they had become. Serana sliced through the neck of her shielded enemy, and he saw hot red blood spill from his throat one second, a blink later finding only a rotted corpse releasing black ichor as it collapsed. Ketar leapt from the stairs, blade held underhandedly as he descended on Frea's final opponent, his blade piercing one side of its spine as he landed on it feet-first.

The human form thrashed about for a moment before Ketar twisted his sword to one side and severed the spinal column, the Draugr falling still a moment later. A heavy, labored breath exited Ketar's throat as he looked up and to the side to see Serana duck around several rapid pike thrusts. A particularly long one just missed her neck as she leaned to the side and used her coiled stance to charge forward with an extended right arm, her dagger piercing the undead's heart and causing him to collapse onto her shoulder a moment later. She shoved the corpse off her body and shook her blade off before returning the dagger to its sheath and turning to face Ketar, who'd gone white as a sheet.

Her face suddenly shifted in worry, but it was Frea who spoke first.

"Are you all right?" asked the Nord. She reached out and touched the side of his face. "You're pale as death."

Ketar could still see the men these creatures had once been. "I…I'll be fine." His jaw clenched. "I just really want to get out of here."

So caught up he was that he failed to notice the sudden tension in his vampire lover—and the glare she was casting at Frea. Ketar just turned away from the corpses, forcing his eyes to remain on the path forward as he ascended the stairs and made his way toward the chest at the top. He numbly lifted the lid, finding a large cache of gold and weapons inside. Ordinarily, he'd have been fascinated and excited by such a find. Now, the taste in his mouth was pure ash as he numbly pulled the sack of gold from the chest and placed it in the rift, leaving everything else behind.

Serana cocked her head in wonder.

"Further payment for the _Maiden_ ," he explained absently, his eyes glazed over as he stood and looked around.

No further passages presented themselves, and there was nothing in the chest that had indicated the source of the disturbance—or anything of real value. Still, nothing in this temple had been obvious so far, and he suspected that a room so close to Miraak's sanctum would be no exception. So, he stepped around the wall that served as a backing for the chest and tilted his head at the sight of a solid rock wall at the end of an arched doorway.

 _As if_ that _isn't obvious,_ he thought with mild annoyance before pulling a chain next to the door.

The rock turned counterclockwise until it revealed an open iron portcullis and another winding passage on the other side. Around and down it led, until they reached a perfectly cylindrical atrium made of volcanic rock.

With a large, strangely-shaped pedestal in its center.

A clawed, hollow pillar extended from the ceiling of the room, nearly touching the pedestal, but leaving just enough room to cast light on its single content: a thick book, strangely crafted and black as night.

Frea stepped forward cautiously, unease in her expression. "There are dark magics at work here."

"I've known that since we stepped through the front door," Ketar replied tensely. He reached a tentative hand out toward the book, flinching when he felt the air around his hand tingle fiercely. "This book...it seems wrong, somehow."

Serana nodded, frowning. "Like it's here, but...not. Almost like an Elder Scroll."

"Then it may be what we seek," Frea said.

"Be careful, Kay."

Ketar nodded just slightly before reaching out with both hands and slowly lifting the book from its resting place. He raised it in front of his face and blew the dust off the cover, revealing a strange sigil drawn into its surface. It took a few moments, but he managed to make out the form of a grotesque mass of tentacles surrounding a monstrous face comprised of numerous eyes and a fanged maw. A sudden chill passed down his spine as recognition thrummed in his blood.

 _Oh…Miraak…you son of a bitch. Tell me you weren't that_ stupid _._

Slowly, as if beyond his control, his hands moved to open the book, its first page revealing its title and initial text, which his eyes scanned over without his consent.

 _"_ Waking Dreams of a Starless Sky _, by Bilius Felcrex. The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought. The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First—_ "

The moment his vision hit the bottom of the page, his body froze in place and eyes widened as the very ink on the page came alive. With an inhuman, monstrous growl, the words formed dark green tentacles that snapped out and snagged Ketar by the shoulders.

He distantly heard the screams of Serana and Frea as he was pulled head-first into the book.

…

"The time comes soon when—what?"

The strange, unfamiliar voice pierced his consciousness as slowly, distantly, Ketar's eyes started working again, several rapid blinks managing to clear out most of the haze and darkness. What greeted him on the other end wasn't much better than the dark. Point of fact, it sent him scrambling for his sword. His hands hadn't gotten halfway there before a sustained, powerful blast of electricity engulfed his body and sent him screaming to his knees, his entire body shaking. Slowly, Ketar managed to lift his head and send a piercing glare at his attacker.

Standing at about his height, arrayed in black robes adorned with armor of sickly gray metal, with a mask of the same material and similar appearance to the cultists he'd fought, was a man flanked on either side by four floating beings, monstrous and tentacled. They had long, spindly arms, with hollow eyeslits and circular, open maws for faces; either side of their heads flanked by long, curved horns. As Ketar labored to regain his breath after the powerful attack, the man strode toward him, voice booming with an unnatural echo.

"Who are you to dare set foot here?" he demanded, coming to a stop about ten feet from the kneeling Dragonborn. "Ah…you are Dragonborn. I can feel it."

Ketar's right hand fisted against the stony ground as he tried to force himself upright, failing when his muscles spasmed and fought him.

"You have slain a great many dragons, I see." His head cocked. "And yet...you have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield!"

The masked man took in a breath as Ketar finally managed to look him in the eyes—so to speak. His eyes widened when he heard the words that proceeded from that mask.

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

And like that, the same glowing, flaming armor he'd once seen in the mirror adorned the body of Miraak, the dragon horns hovering over his head seeming to add an even more monstrous quality to his armor. Ketar's blood ran ice-cold at the very sight.

"This realm is beyond you," Miraak continued as he moved even closer, kneeling in front of Ketar. "You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine."

Ketar's other hand fisted against the stones.

Miraak stood and paced away from him, splaying his arms outward. "I already control the minds of its people." His arms returned to his side, his right hand turning upward and curling into a fist. "Soon they will finish building my temple, and I can return home." Miraak looked over his shoulder, and Ketar could _feel_ the derisive glare being sent his way. " _He_ can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel."

Miraak strode away from him toward a strange, serpentine dragon that descended to the platform they were standing on as two of the tentacled creatures floated toward Ketar's prone body, their maws glowing with magic. The human faces of the Draugr he'd fought in the temple flashed in Ketar's vision for just a moment, a sudden wave of anger surging through his veins as the monsters came to a stop on either side of him. The heat in his blood arrested his entire body and stoked a rapidly growing flame in his chest as he clenched his teeth and took in a long breath. The power inside him rose once again, flaring with his rage and sending a sudden burst of strength into his limbs as Miraak's fingers touched a saddle on the dragon's neck.

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!" boomed across the gap between them, echoing across the hollow, empty space.

The sudden burst of power that engulfed Ketar's body sent the floating creatures reeling as he shot to his feet, the familiar flaming dragon armor encasing his unhooded form. Miraak stopped short and froze, slowly turning to face Ketar and stare for a few moments as the Last Dragonborn glared at him, cloak billowing behind him and fists clenched at his sides.

Ketar's eyes were alight with fiery rage as his voice shook with the effort of remaining on his feet. "How's _that_ for power…" he snarled, " _asshole_?"

Miraak's head cocked to one side, surprise evident in his body language. "So there is more to you than meets the eye. Unexpected…but not unwelcome."

Ketar's eyes darted from side to side as the floating creatures recovered, all four of them surging toward him as he tried to force his body to move.

Miraak bowed slightly, one hand across his midsection. "Perhaps you will be a worthy distraction after all." He straightened up and crossed his arms smugly. "This should be…interesting." One hand rose just enough to wave to the creatures.

They responded by lifting their hands over their grotesque mouths and exhaling tandem bursts of energy that swept through Ketar's body like a shockwave. Individually, they were powerful enough to jar him into a headache. Together, the force was nearly bone-shattering, and would've had him screaming if the air hadn't already been knocked out of him. Still, he remained standing, trying to force himself forward. So they did it again…and again…and again, until his legs completely gave out and his lungs spasmed for lack of air. Ketar had just enough sense left to look up and see Miraak fly off on his dragon, quickly vanishing into the pale green horizon.

He exhaled Serana's name a split-second before everything went black.

* * *

AN: Wow, so two weeks exactly. Lol this is getting tiresome. I have to apologize, really, but this quest was just—so— ** _BORING_**. I mean really, it was tedious for no reason, and I just had to reflect that in the way the characters responded. Had to cut so much out because the temple was basically a never-ending labyrinth of awful.

*Sigh*

Anyway, now that I'm done ranting, I hope the chapter itself wasn't too boring, despite how I felt writing much of it. I really wanted to get that last bit down right, so please let me know if their first confrontation was epic enough. That, along with another plot point I want to handle later, is why I wanted Ketar to have Dragon Aspect at the end of _Your Eyes at Sunset_.

I don't really want to say anything else for risk of spoiling what I have planned (and because this chapter left me feeling kind of meh), so let me guys know what you thought about this episode. The next one will be pretty lore-heavy and feature the return of a familiar face. I hope you enjoy it.

 _Oya vode_.

\- CDrake

Musical Inspirations:

Transformers – Decepticons: start-1:45—landing in Apocrypha/Miraak's monologue, 1:45-2:13—Dragon Aspect/face-off/end of chapter


	7. Legends of the Dragonkin

Endless gold.

To go from all black to all gold was jarring enough. The real kicker was that he actually _recognized_ this particular shade of gold. At this realization, a long, exasperated breath left his lungs as he put his hands on his hips.

"I know you're there." A sigh. "Why do you always do this?"

A deep, echoing chuckle permeated every inch of gold around him a moment before a familiar armored form materialized in front of him. "Do you have any idea how boring it gets, being stuck in this realm all the time with no one to keep me company except my constantly bickering siblings?"

Ketar arched an eyebrow.

The golden-eyed Aedra sighed and shook his head. "Anyhow," he smiled warmly, "it's good to see you again, son."

Ketar's eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait—am I dead…again?"

Akatosh shook his head slowly. "No. The force those Seekers used to propel you back to Solstheim created a nexus of vibrational energy powerful enough to open a tear in time and space. That's how they intended to teleport you to the temple. It also created the ideal circumstances for me to pull you into a time rift." He frowned. "Though to be perfectly frank, if you hadn't been utilizing your full Dragon Aspect, the sheer force of it would likely have shattered every bone in your body."

At the mention of that, Ketar's expression darkened. "You knew, didn't you?"

Akatosh remained tight-lipped.

"The 'other' you mentioned months ago…it was _him_ , wasn't it?"

The Aedra's expression shifted several times, his visible emotions everywhere from frustration to anger to an overwhelming, dejected sadness. It was the last one he settled on a few moments later as he barely exhaled, "Yes."

Ketar took note of his father's sudden change in emotion and took a step toward him. "Father…who is he? _What_ is he?"

Akatosh sighed hard and waved his hand to one side, a portion of the golden realm shifting to create a chair made of hard-light. "You'll want to sit for this. It's a long story."

Frowning, he complied as his father took a seat across from him.

Akatosh frowned deeply, fingers knitted and placed over his lips as he stared into infinity. Finally, his eyes shifted to Ketar. "To understand the story of Miraak, you must first understand that of Alduin. Tell me, do you know why my firstborn became what he was?"

Ketar blinked. "He was practically worshipped by his fellow dragons for being the first of them, and all the power went to his head."

Akatosh nodded slowly. "That is true, though only part of the story. Alduin's role as World-Eater is misconstrued by many due to the title's meaning in the common tongue. In _Dovahzul_ , it has a very different connotation." He waved at their golden surroundings, the realm shifting to form more hard-light projections: a large dragon and the forms of men proceeding before him. "Alduin was meant to ferry the souls of dead mortals to Sovngarde, safeguarding them from necromancers, Daedra, and others who would subvert their path to the afterlife. It worked, for a time, and Alduin became known as a guardian of those who passed on. But he chafed under his responsibilities. There was no challenge in it, no true 'use' of his talents, or so he claimed. So, when his dragon brothers and sisters began paying homage to him, it got him thinking."

"Instead of safeguarding those souls, he started feeding off them."

The Aedra nodded again, his expression pained as the floating image shifted to one of mortals cowering in fear of the dragon, who'd set several of them on fire while devouring another one whole. "He used the power of the mortals he fed on to begin conquering Tamriel, starting with Skyrim."

"And the more he killed, the more powerful he became."

"Yes." An image reminiscent of part of Alduin's Wall appeared, with various dragons driving mortals under hard labor with Alduin at their head. "His lust for power and blood, and retribution against the mortals he'd been 'cursed' with defending, knew no bounds. Before long, all of mankind was subject to his rule, and I had been helpless to do anything but watch." An image of a robed woman appeared, hands spread toward Nirn and the oppressed mortals. "My sister, Kynareth, had attempted to stem the tide of his destruction by gifting mankind with the power of the Voice, and for a time, it gave those who rebelled a fighting chance."

The image shifted again, to various men and women trampled and roasted by a horde of dragons. Ketar winced at the sight.

"But even this was not enough," Akatosh continued. "Many times, I'd pleaded with my son to return to his duties, or at least cease his assault on mankind, but for naught. He sought vengeance against me for 'inhibiting' his potential and shackling him under the weight of servitude to what he believed was an inferior race." He frowned deeply. "Over time I'd come to realize that he would only bend to a force so superior and overwhelming, it would either cripple or kill him. And I knew from the start that mere mortals would not be enough to best Alduin."

Ketar blinked. "So you created another dragonkin."

A nod. "Miraak," he waved into the Aether, the image shifting to form a child curled up in the fetal position, "the First Dragonborn. Blood and soul of a dragon in the body of a mortal. I realized that Alduin had cast aside his responsibilities in part because he had been placed at the very top of creation from the start, and become arrogant in his position. So, I considered that, perhaps, the frailties of mortality would teach such a child the value of humility and service to others."

"He was a dragon priest," Ketar pointed out.

He nodded. "A cover that allowed him to learn more about the dragons and their inner workings, in preparation for his war against Alduin. But he was never one of them."

"So…what went wrong?"

Akatosh's jaw tightened. "I laid my hand on him too heavily. Like Alduin, he knew who and what he was from the very beginning, and grew up hearing my voice almost every single day."

"And because of that, he too grew arrogant."

A nod. "He came to believe that just because he had my blessing, he was untouchable, and defied my will with a reckless decision that cost him dearly. Seeking vengeance, he came to me for more power, but I refused to assist him in a mission that would compromise my efforts against Alduin." His expression darkened. "So he went to someone else."

Ketar's eyes shifted in realization. "Hermaeus Mora."

Akatosh nodded grimly. "The Daedric Lord of forbidden knowledge. He gave Miraak the power he so desperately sought, and in return acquired his eternal servitude. But like all power so quickly and recklessly attained, it backfired, and before long, his conflict with the dragons grew too dangerous and fiery. They backed him into a corner at his temple and forced him to further submit himself to Mora just to stay alive. He retreated into Apocrypha, Hermaeus' Mora's plane of Oblivion, and Alduin had him sealed there, with one of his priests assigned to guard the entrance. Miraak has remained there ever since, festering and scheming and made immune to the passage of time by the influence of Mora's realm."

Ketar frowned and stared at the newest image, an etching of the same robed figure he'd just confronted standing before an all-too-familiar mass of eyes and tentacles. "What's his endgame? What's he after?"

"The same as Alduin's original goal: subjugation of mankind and all of Nirn. Only he wishes to take it a step further, by using the power Mora gave him to not only rule the land, but the minds of the population as well."

"Like the mindless drones working at the Stones and his temple."

Akatosh nodded.

Ketar frowned at the image. "How do I stop him?"

The Aedra looked uneasy. "I…cannot say."

He blinked. " _Excuse me_?"

Akatosh sighed. "I'm afraid I've already said as much as I can."

"What do you—oh come on, you can't drop a bomb like that and just leave it there. I need something else to go on."

His head shook. "I cannot risk making the same mistake that I did with those two."

Ketar blinked. "I am _nothing_ like them, Father. You _know_ that."

Akatosh smiled sadly. "You three are more alike than you think. You and Miraak especially."

Kay stared at him in shock.

"Perhaps you will learn more in time, but for now, the path laid out before you must remain a mystery. You have navigated such murky waters before, and I have faith you will do so again." He frowned. "The possibilities in your future are…numerous; even more so than usual, at this point in time, and I cannot risk tipping the scales one way or the other. Ultimately, _you_ must choose the kind of person you will be, and _that_ , my son, is decided by your actions." He stood and waved to the side, dissipating the images he'd created.

Sighing, Ketar also stood up and pursed his lips tightly. "So, essentially, I'm walking into an age-old feud between you and two of your oldest and most powerful children…blind."

Akatosh winced. "I am truly sorry I cannot be of more help, but time has taught me that tampering with fate only makes things worse. That is why I limited my contact with you to peripheral influence. The Blades, your friends, Gelebor—I was always there from the start."

Ketar nodded slowly. "I know. I think I've known for a while, I just…I just started to think that maybe I was imagining it."

He placed his hands on Ketar's shoulders. "I would never abandon you, Ketar. You are far too important to me… _and_ my siblings. Each of them has blessed you, in their own way."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Akatosh smiled. "Dibella favored you from the start, and gave you the looks and poise to enthrall many. Julianos gifted you with the wisdom and intelligence you needed to govern your decisions in such a turbulent time, as well as a natural talent for magic further bolstered by your Breton heritage. Kynareth gave you a love for animal kind, and an appreciation for nature's beauty. Stendarr imbued you with an unyielding sense of justice, and a love of mercy and grace, even to those who would make themselves your enemies." He smirked. "Though that last bit is…difficult for you, I've noticed."

Ketar looked away and blushed a bit.

"Zenithar blessed you with the wealth you now possess, the resources you need to fight your war against the evils of this world. Arkay's influence is subtle, and primarily manifests in the form of a tendency toward balance in all things. This too is made difficult by your turbulent past. Talos, once a fellow Dragonborn himself, imbued you with a talent for war that far exceeds any of your peers. And Mara…well…"

Ketar cocked his head at Akatosh curiously. From the look on his father's face, he got the feeling that if a god could blush, he would be.

Akatosh scratched his beard and chuckled nervously. "She gave you the ability to turn heads… _very_ easily."

Ketar's eyes narrowed slowly. "Wait a minute…are you telling me…" his head shook rapidly, "all those women chasing after me—that's _her_ fault?"

Akatosh chuckled softly. "It was after you came to Skyrim, when you ran from one mission to the next with hardly any pause. Mara was complaining, as usual, that you were all work and no play. Talos insisted that you were making the right decision by focusing on the dire matters at hand." His head tilted as he began pacing. "Soooo…they had a bit of a running bet going. Mara gave you a blessing rarely bestowed on mortals that made you desirable to basically every woman within a five-mile radius, and they watched what happened."

Ketar blinked owlishly. "Wait…Talos and Mara…gambled on whether or not I'd get laid?"

Another nervous laugh. "Actually…we _all_ did."

His eyebrows shot skyward. " _Excuse_ _me_?"

"As I said, it gets painfully dull in Aetherius after countless ages on our own."

"…what would you even _wager_?"

Akatosh grinned. "The bottom line is: you never broke, to any of the women who practically threw themselves at you. And to this day you still haven't." His head cocked slightly, a chuckle bubbling from his throat. "Though truthfully, the joke was on all of them."

Ketar frowned. "How so?"

He smiled. "Your lineage is…different from other Dragonborn. You are more finely attuned to time, and me, than most of your predecessors. That connection gives you access to your rift, among many other gifts. Another such trait is romantic predestination."

Ketar stared at him blankly. "Eh?"

"You wondered, all your adolescent and adult life, why you couldn't form romantic connections with anyone."

His eyes widened. "Wait—that was _your_ gift?"

Akatosh tilted his head back and forth. "Yes and no. There are certain points in the timeline, even rarer than Dragon Breaks, where there is only a single point of reality. Meaning, a single event that _must_ occur, no matter what comes before and after. Because of the purity of your blood, you, like Talos, are an anomaly in time and space. As a result, your heart is tied to only one other in the whole of time: your soulmate."

Ketar blinked. "So…this whole time…I was waiting for Serana?"

Akatosh nodded. "You two were destined to meet in that crypt, no matter who you were or what you initially thought of each other. What you decided to do with that connection was entirely up to you." He smiled. "And you didn't disappoint."

Ketar smiled and blushed, both falling silent for a while.

Akatosh gripped his shoulders with a small, warm smile. "Ketar…even if things seem bleak, or uncertain—with her and with Miraak—I have faith that you'll make the right decision, when the time comes."

Ketar nodded slowly and gripped one of his hands, smiling a little. "Thank you, Father."

Akatosh smiled back. "For now, go with my blessing, and that of all the Aedra."

He arched an eyebrow. "Can you get Mara to back off just a bit? I mean, not that all the attention isn't flattering, but Serana trying to jump me every five seconds is uh…" his face heated up further as he cleared his throat, "challenging."

Akatosh laughed outright. "Oh trust me, Ketar—" his glowing golden eyes sparkled with mischief, "—that has absolutely nothing to do with Mara."

Ketar's eyes went double-wide, jaw hanging open partway.

Another chuckle came from the Aedra's throat as he slung an arm around Ketar's shoulders and turned him toward a rapidly forming portal in the Aether. "Suffice to say, the terms of our wager shifted a bit after you two met." He winked at his son. "I'm still betting on you." Akatosh grinned wolfishly when Ketar paled and stared at him in horror. "Good luck!"

And with that, he pushed the Dragonborn through the portal, briefly engulfing his vision in blinding gold before everything went dark again.

…

"Ketar! _Ketar_! Come on, love, talk to me!"

The faint, desperate voice at the edge of his consciousness dragged Ketar back to reality, his eyelids blinking several times and panic taking him when he could still only see blackness. Slowly but surely, a flicker of light appeared in the center of his vision, spreading outward like white tendrils. It took him a few seconds to realize that the white was from the overcast sky of Solstheim. A few more seconds passed before he could see semi-clearly, and when he did, his eyes immediately locked onto the worry-stricken face to his left, the dual orbs of glowing orange drawing his focus like moths to a flame.

With some effort, he forced a cough through his strangely raw throat. "I-I'm fine." Ketar reached back and pressed his fingers against the cold, hard dirt beneath him, shakily managing to push himself to a sitting position. "Just dazed." A few more rapid blinks finally cleared the last of the fog from his vision, allowing him to see Serana kneeling at his side and Frea standing a short distance off. "What happened?"

Serana frowned deeply. "I was hoping to ask _you_ that."

He blinked. "Meaning?"

Frea knelt on his other side. "It was among the strangest things I've ever seen. One moment you were there, and then those tendrils took you—but not _all_ of you."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Eh?"

Serana ran her fingers over his arm, as if to confirm he was really there. "It was like…you were there, but not there. We could see _through_ you, Ketar."

His brows knitted. "Like a ghost?"

"Almost, yes. When those tentacles grabbed you, it was like you were torn in half, like only a fragment of you was still here."

Ketar frowned. "The other half was in Oblivion." He grunted as Serana and Frea helped him stand. "In the realm of Hermaeus Mora."

Frea's features paled. "What does _Mora_ have to do with this?"

His lips pursed. "Apparently, everything. Miraak devoted himself to Mora's service in exchange for power. That's how he overthrew his dragon masters."

"How do you know that?"

Ketar blinked and shook himself off, trying to clear the remaining fog from his head. "Long story." He turned to Serana. "Do you have the book?"

She frowned and nodded. "Yeah. About a minute after half of you vanished, it flared with this weird energy, and you were solid again, but you collapsed immediately." She cautiously handed it to him, making sure to keep it closed. "We couldn't wake you, so we carried you outside."

Ketar nodded slowly, staring at the monstrous sigil on the book's cover.

"Kay, why do I get the feeling you're not telling us something?"

He sighed hard and looked the book over. "There's so much I still don't know, but what I _did_ learn is enough to make me worry. A lot."

"Learned from whom?" Frea asked. "Or what?"

Ketar sighed. "I'll tell you later. For now, we need to find someone who knows what that thing really is and how we can use it against Miraak. When I opened it, it teleported me—or part of me, apparently—to a platform about twenty feet away from Miraak himself."

Frea's eyes went double-wide. "He was _there_? Did you kill him?"

Serana shot her a look. "If he had, do you think he'd still be so worried?"

"No," Ketar said with a calming hand on Sera's shoulder. "Point of fact, his minions nearly killed me. And he was riding a dragon."

"How? He wasn't exactly a friend to dragons, unless he won the loyalty of that specific one."

Ketar's head shook. "I don't know, but for now, the book has to remain our priority."

Frea frowned and stared at its unnatural pages. "If it has to do with Herma-Mora, my father, Storn, may know more. We should return to my village."

Ketar nodded and opened his rift, throwing the book in there. "Lead on. I'll explain what happened on the way."

…

"By the All-Maker…Akatosh himself?"

Serana shrugged. "It's not the first time they've met in person, or even the second. He must've yanked the conscious half of you into the rift right before you collapsed."

Ketar nodded. "Right. Every time we've spoken, time has been frozen, so that would make sense."

"But for Miraak to have been his chosen instrument," Frea began, "…it boggles the mind how he could refuse such a gift."

"I've known people to do a lot of stupid things for power, but…" He frowned as his mind's eye flashed with the human faces of the Draugr they'd fought in the temple. His head shook rapidly. "I don't know. Something feels different this time."

The trio fell silent as a curious glow caught Ketar's eye.

Frea noticed. "That green light comes from the Wind Stone, where my people work against their will. They must be freed soon." She waved at the top of a rocky rise, where the hay-padded thatches of longhouse roofs could just be made out. "My village is just ahead. Storn has used his magic to raise a barrier around it, protecting the few of us left. That the barrier is still there is a good sign."

Ketar frowned and tilted his head curiously as they approached a faintly glowing pillar of energy emanating from the center of Skaal Village. Three village elders sat in a circle, kneeling with their heads bowed.

"What are they using as a focus?" he asked Frea.

"A focus?"

He nodded. "Most magical barriers require a focusing agent, typically a magical artifact or high-quality gemstone."

Frea smirked. "We require no such crude tactics, but utilize the power of the land itself."

Ketar arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Scoff all you like, but this island bears much strength in itself."

"Oookay, if you say so."

The trio slowly approached the kneeling elders, Frea separating from Sera and Kay to kneel beside the only one without a hat, a gray-haired elder with braids running back on either side of his head.

"Father," Frea greeted. "I have returned." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "There is still hope."

The old man, whose eyes were worn and tired, looked up at his daughter with a faint glimmer in his gaze. "What news do you bring? Is there a way to free our people?"

Frea frowned. "I don't know, but I have brought someone who has seen things..." She waved to Ketar. "He has confirmed that Miraak is the one behind the suffering of our people."

Storn frowned deeper and looked down. "I feared as much."

She huffed. "But how is that even possible? After all this time..."

The elder grunted and pushed himself upright with some effort. "There is much we still do not know." His eyes alit on Ketar and sparkled as his head tilted partway. "But I think…this one may hold answers beyond simply the identity of our enemy." He nodded to Ketar. "Come forth. I would speak with you."

He bowed his head respectfully and stepped forward.

"Frea tells me you have seen things, yes? My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village. Time is short." His lips pursed. "Tell me what you know."

Ketar launched into an abbreviated explanation of what had happened to him after reading the book, including his short conversation with Akatosh (though leaving out the more…personal bits, as he did when explaining to the ladies). By the end, Storn was visibly paler than when they'd begun.

"That place…what you saw…" Storn's head shook rapidly, "this may be even worse than I'd expected."

Serana frowned. "How so?"

He glanced at her. "As Dragonborn, Miraak wields great power. If Ketar, a fellow Dragonborn, could hardly survive in his presence…I fear for the rest of us."

Ketar's lips pursed. "There _has_ to be a way to match him, a weakness we can exploit."

Storn nodded. "Assuredly, yes, but at the moment, we have a larger concern." He turned and motioned to the exhausted elders at his side. "The barrier around the village is cracking, bit by bit, and when that happens, even those of us who retain our free will shall fall to Miraak's domination."

The Dragonborn frowned and placed a hand on his chin. "Frea said he was corrupting the Stones somehow, and you channeled the power of the land itself to create this barrier. Do you think it's related to his control?"

Another nod. "That's it exactly, and I believe I may have a solution." He pointed up toward the mountains. "There is a place northwest of here, called Saering's Watch. There you will find a Word of Power that may shed some light on the source of Miraak's control, and how to break it."

Ketar bowed his head slightly. "Thanks for the advice. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Please do, and should you find a means of disrupting this dark power, head to the Wind Stone. With that conduit cleansed, we will be better able to defend ourselves."

Ketar nodded and tilted his head as he stared up at the mountain.

Serana gave him a sideways look. "What's with that look on your face?"

He grinned widely. "I just got a brilliant idea."

…

" _I_ _hate you_. So much."

Ketar grinned from ear to ear as a mirthful rumble carried through them from below. "I think you mean the other thing."

Serana threw him a fierce glare before a sudden jolt prompted her to abruptly tighten her hold around him.

Kay leaned over partway and looked down to see a familiar armored form hanging some fifteen feet below them. "How ya doing?!" he shouted over the roar of the wind.

"This is _incredible_! Never did I think that a day beginning with such a melancholy task would end so gloriously!" Frea looked up at him with double-wide eyes. "I'm riding a _dragon_!"

Ketar chuckled and muttered, "Technically, I think the dragon's riding you."

His "brilliant idea," a claim Serana would dispute for all of her immortal life, was to summon Durnehviir and have him give them a ride to Saering's Watch. Serana, as terrified as she was to fly under any power but her own, had insisted on riding with Ketar on the dragon's back, but Durnehviir claimed three was too much to keep balance. Thus, the exuberantly entertained Frea found her way into Durnehviir's paws. It had taken barely a minute to convince the surly Nord woman that the dragon was a friend—mostly through a short recap of how they met and why they'd come to blows in the first place.

The moment she'd heard about his slavery under the Ideal Masters, he'd seen something shift in her eyes, and he knew she couldn't help but see her people when she looked at the dragon. Turning his thoughts back to the present, Ketar tilted his head to one side and frowned at the fog-covered mountain looming before them.

"Durnehviir!" he called.

"Yes, _thuri_?"

"I probably should've asked this before, but…do you know anything about Miraak?"

Even from above, he could see the dragon's equivalent of a frown. "Only what my brothers told me long ago. He was a priest who committed treason against Alduin, and even convinced some _dovah_ to follow him."

"Why?"

"I did not hear of his motivations, only his downfall. I lived in a place far removed from Solstheim, and only received word of this in passing." He paused a moment before adding, "I am sorry I am not more help."

Ketar smiled and patted his scaly neck. " _Ofan nii niid hadrim_ , _zeymah_. If this were easy, I wouldn't be needed."

Serana groaned into his back. "Just once I'd like things to be easy. You know, one time, a change of pace. Please?"

He grinned and laced his fingers with one of her hands. "That's your upset stomach talking. Speaking of which, how close are we to that peak?"

Durnehviir's reptilian eyes narrowed. "I cannot tell with this fog. Give me a moment, _thuri_." He took in a breath. " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

The fog hanging over the snow-capped mountain rapidly dissipated, revealing a large, ruined stone structure built into the mountain with several levels and more of the arches common to Miraak's architecture. Oh, and a steel-gray-scaled dragon launching itself from the top of a Word Wall.

" _Fo_ —"

Ketar's eyes widened. " _Brace_!"

" _—Krah-Diin_!"

Durnehviir juked left at the last possible second as a massive chunk of glacial magic catapulted toward them from the mouth of a serpentine dragon, of the same species as the one Ketar had seen Miraak ride. Apparently these types were native only to Solstheim, though that was hardly his main concern when it charged toward them with reckless abandon. Seeing as how they were weighed down by three people, Ketar thought quickly and cast his eyes on the courtyard in front of the Word Wall.

"Durnehviir! Swoop in low and drop Frea off down there!"

Durnehviir nodded his agreement as the other dragon was heard coming in behind them, poised for another icy strike. They dropped like a rock, Ketar's stomach doing a small flip as a stream of pure cold passed over their heads. As soon as Durnehviir's paws closed within fifteen feet of the ground, he released Frea, who curled up as soon as she hit the ground and safely barrel-rolled to a stop. From the early evening shadows, several armed Draugr shuffled toward Frea, the Nord rising to meet them enthusiastically.

Ketar glanced back. "Sera, you t—"

There was no one sitting behind him.

He blinked once, twice, then looked further up to see the dragon that had been chasing them, hovering in place, jaws wide open—and staying that way. Ketar's eyes widened dramatically when he saw what was holding it up: Serana, with her sword braced vertically against the inside of its mouth and her dagger busy shanking it in the gullet. The dragon's pained roars split the cold dusk air as its head thrashed about, attempting to shake her off. Finally, it took in a breath and Spoke again.

" _Fo-Krah-Diin_!"

Ketar's blood flooded with panic as Serana took a sustained blast of pure cold to the face, the spell dying down after a few moments and revealing—Serana, covered in a thick coating of frost, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

 _Right,_ he thought, _vampire._

Ketar placed one hand on Durnehviir's neck as they looped back toward the other dragon. "Durnehviir, get us in close!"

"Yes, _thuri_!"

The undead dragon flapped his wings explosively, launching them toward the enemy as Serana pulled her sword free and somersaulted onto the wyrm's head, running back across its neck and spine to slash its scales with several downward swipes. The dragon tried to curl its neck around and snap her off its back, but Ketar shut that down with a concentrated lightning spell to its left wing.

"Sera!" he called as they approached a pass below the wounded dragon.

She just shook her head and swan-dove off its back. Her freefall was quickly arrested by the levitation enchantment in her cape. Though nowhere near as effective as his own, Ketar knew she could take the fall due to her vampiric physiology. When the serpentine dragon turned toward her and took a breath as Durnehviir began circling back, _then_ he started to worry.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

Ketar saw Serana glance back at the incoming kinetic wave and pull something from her belt a second before her form was obscured by an explosion of falling snow and energy. Pursing his lips, he spurred Durnehviir toward the other dragon and drew Zephyr from his belt, having restocked his ebony arrows from the rift before takeoff. Three arrows were nocked in tandem, and a scattershot of ebony missiles streaked toward the other dragon as it twirled its body in a corkscrew, the rapid spin of its wings deflecting the arrows. It leveled out and took another breath as they charged each other head-on. All three dragonkin released their voices at once, Durnehviir's Shout further bolstered by Ketar's.

" _Fo-Krah-Diin_!" Shouted the serpent.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!" cried the Dragonborn and his mount in tandem.

The blast of pure concussive force that projected forward not only blew the other dragon's Shout apart, but their combined _Thu'um_ kept going and slammed into it headfirst like a tidal wave. It was as if the serpent had just slammed into a wall that would not give even to its strength. Thus, it was not only stunned, but effectively knocked from the sky and into a free-fall that lasted almost until it hit the ground. The injured wyrm managed to recover just enough to glide into a controlled crash, but its glossy, scaled form still dragged across the snow for quite a distance, knocking over and splintering several evergreen trees in the process.

It climbed upright rather quickly for its injuries, snarling up at the flying duo and attempting to take to the skies once more. Ketar quickly put an end to that.

" _Joor-Zah-Frul_!"

As Dragonrend tore into the serpentine dragon and anchored it to the ground, Zephyr sang at the hands of its master, half of his quiver emptying into the wyrm's injured body and causing it to thrash about in an attempt to get to cover. Durnehviir put a quick end to that when he descended and slammed it down with both paws on its neck. During that split-second stop, Ketar coiled his body up and launched himself from Durnehviir's neck in a backward somersault as his dragon friend pushed off. Dragonborn's Fury left its sheath mid-movement, held underhandedly as he descended blade-first on the dragon's head. His midnight black dragonbone blade pierced its brain like a stake driven into soft dirt as his boots touched down on its head.

The dragon immediately fell limp and collapsed, Ketar dive-rolling off its falling head and turning mid-tumble to face his fallen enemy. As the scaly creature slumped against the snowy ground, he shook the gore off his blade and sheathed it, then cast his eyes toward the mountain peak and frowned in worry. He hadn't seen what happened to Serana after that blast…

The rapid decomposition of the fallen wyrm drew his attention to its corpse, his frown deepening when its energy didn't immediately flow into him.

" _Do you ever wonder if it hurts?_ "

Ketar's head snapped to his left, eyes wide as the familiar voice echoed through his head. He stared blankly at the form of Miraak himself, transparently ethereal and glowing, head tilted to one side. Miraak's masked gaze traveled to Ketar as he continued.

" _To have one's soul ripped out like that?_ "

Miraak reached one hand out toward the fallen dragon, and Ketar's jaw dropped as the wyrm's energy rushed not to him, but to Miraak, flowing into his ethereal projection as easily as if he were actually standing there.

" _Ah—one step closer._ "

Ketar stared at him. "How did you—"

" _It takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul, boy. Perhaps you are simply not as powerful as you think._ "

Kay's jaw clenched. "If you hadn't sucker punched me earlier, I'd have been able to test that theory."

Miraak chuckled deeply. " _All in due time. I'll admit, you have me intrigued, Dragonborn. Your command of the_ Thu'um _is impressive, to be sure, but will it be enough to pose a challenge? I suppose we'll have to wait and see._ " He waved dismissively and strode off. " _Until then, you may continue to flounder as you wish._ "

As Miraak walked away, his ethereal form slowly faded from existence, leaving only a small puff of spent energy in his wake and a noticeably perturbed Ketar. Shaking himself off, Kay cast the fallen dragon one last look before turning his eyes to the sky.

"Durnehviir! Do you see Serana?"

A few seconds passed before the powerful wingbeats of his dragon ally were heard. "Yes, _thuri_! She appears unharmed!"

He let out a sigh of relief as Durnehviir descended and landed next to him, climbing on his back. "Take me to her."

Moments after taking off, it became readily apparent why Durnehviir said she was unharmed. The side of the mountain next to Saering's Watch was sporting a new, perfectly half-spherical hole. Inside, the culprit sat in a glowing bubble of violet energy, a large stone of the same color held tightly in her right hand as she looked around, her expression somewhere between bored and worried. Ketar stopped and stared as soon as Durnehviir anchored himself to the side of the mountain using his claws.

"Um," Serana called from inside the bubble, her voice echoing strangely, "a little help? I…don't know how to turn it off."

Ketar blinked and climbed across one of Durnehviir's wings to get closer. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "Last time I used this thing was to trap my father, and he shattered it, so I didn't really have to worry about that detail."

He chuckled. "Fair enough." He reached out and touched the side of the bubble. "You'll want to draw the magicka from the stone, same as you do from your environment or within yourself. Just focus all your energy on the perfect gem." Ketar could see the effort and frustration on her face as she struggled to obey his instructions. He sighed. "Remember how you learned the plasma bolt?"

She blinked up at him.

"Surrender to it, Sera."

Serana's glowing eyes slipped shut as she took a deep, calming breath, her fingers loosening around the gemstone as its glow slowly began to fade. Slowly but surely, the barrier's magic dissipated into nothingness, and Sera breathed a sigh of relief as she launched herself into his arms.

"I'm…gonna need some more practice."

Ketar chuckled and nodded against the side of her head, one hand stroking her hair. "Agreed. Now come on."

…

So relieved was Serana at escaping her own barrier that she didn't even notice when they took off and descended to ground level. Their feet touched the ground as they took in the aftermath of the short battle. Apparently the dragon had been killed elsewhere, while Frea took on four Draugr by herself, to great effect. All four of them were sitting in dismembered piles of rotted flesh and armor.

"Not bad," Serana admitted grudgingly.

Frea just grinned and hefted her axes, laying them across her shoulders.

Ketar, meanwhile, had already moved past them and approached the Word Wall, his eyes sparkling the same way they did whenever he learned a new Word of Power. Serana's eyes were locked onto his black-clad form, his cloak flapping sideways in the wind as he placed one gloved hand on the stone. She was so preoccupied with observing him that she almost didn't catch the look Frea was also throwing him. Serana did a double-take as soon as she noticed.

 _That little…_

The vampire's teeth gritted as she fought to rein in her…baser emotions. Serana had just narrowly escaped being crushed into paste by a homicidal dragon only to be trapped in her own shield and rescued by her lover—and there Frea was undressing him with her eyes.

"See something you like?" Serana asked with a hint of venom in her voice.

Frea glanced over with a smirk. "Just enjoying the view. It's not something you see every day."

Sera's eyes narrowed with a dangerous smile. "Oh, I'm well aware. But that view's _mine_."

She had the audacity to _chuckle_. "Perhaps for the moment, but come now; it isn't as if you're _married_."

Serana winced.

Frea further irritated her by putting a hand on her shoulder and adopting an annoyingly patronizing tone. "Take my advice, sweetie, and stop taking this so seriously. Men don't like clingy women. And a man like him?" She looked over at him and shook her head. "I'm surprised he doesn't have a string of lovers dogging his every step at any given moment."

Serana smiled venomously, her tone poisonously sweet as she removed Frea's hand with a grip almost tight enough to bend the metal gauntlet. "That's because you don't know him."

The two women glared at each other for a while before Ketar's voice snapped them out of it.

"Hey! You two ready to go?!"

Serana replied without breaking eye contact with Frea. "Absolutely."

She shoved her way past Frea on her way to Durnehviir, and remained silent all the way to the Wind Stone.

…

The atmosphere surrounding the Wind Stone was the same as the Earth Stone and Miraak's Temple. That is, so thick with dark magic that even _Serana_ could taste it in the air. She wasn't sure exactly what Ketar's plan was, but as soon as they dismounted from Durnehviir, who had to return to the Soul Cairn, he strode toward the Stone with sure steps and a grim disposition. His fists clenched at his sides as he took in a deep breath.

" _Gol_!"

His Shout flared with gold light flecked with every color imaginable as it rushed over the Stone like a wave of cleansing energy. The sickly green glow over the Wind Stone disappeared immediately, and the Elves and Nords working around the artifact immediately stopped swinging their hammers as the shrine rapidly crumbled to dust. The few that were without helmets or hoods were visibly confused, and all of them dropped their implements as they glanced around in a panic.

Frea stared at the scene with an open jaw. "He…he actually did it. They're _free_!"

Ketar nodded. "Cleansing the Stone seems to have done the trick."

As the confused workers regained their bearings, a deep rumble was heard from below, and the shallow pool surrounding the Stone began bubbling with black tar.

"Kay," Sera said warningly as she backed away from the artifact.

Ketar's hand went to his sword as he followed her example, the dragonbone slowly clearing its sheath. Suddenly, the tar flared up and bubbled furiously like a massive black geyser. The geyser quickly dissipated and faded back into the water, but what it left behind was something out of a nightmare: a massive, twelve-foot-tall creature with fins, webbed fingers and toes, and jaws filled with needle-like teeth.

Frea and Serana drew their weapons in a flash, the former crying out, "What in Oblivion is that?!"

Ketar scowled and readied his sword. "Miraak's insurance policy. If I had to guess, it was waiting here the whole time. Might even be his link to the Stone."

"Then it might reestablish his control if it survives," Frea guessed.

Serana smiled malevolently. "Oh trust me, it won't survive."

The lurking creature snarled and hissed at the trio, its strange, fish-like eyes locking onto Ketar as its head drew back. Ketar quickly summoned a magic ward when it spat some strange, tar-like substance at him, the shield stopping it in its tracks as it hissed and bubbled. The parts that dripped down into the snow burnt and tunneled their way into the dirt, leaving behind nothing but smoke and holes.

"Watch out!" Ketar shouted. "It spits acid!"

The Lurker swung for him with a horizontal blow, the Dragonborn diving beneath its arm and slashing its right leg as he slid past. The monster growled and whirled on him as Serana bombarded it with a drain spell from behind, feeling her stomach flip as the strange energy she absorbed roiled around in her body. A sudden woozy spell took her for a moment before she stabilized, finding that Frea and Ketar were double-teaming the creature from opposite sides.

 _What the hell_ is _that thing?_

Shaking herself off, Serana rushed forward and leapt for it with her dagger in hand, the stiletto blade piercing its back as she climbed its massive form. One of its hands waved about trying to grab her while Ketar used its distraction to rush forward. In a surprising show of reflex and agility, the Lurker dashed to the side, out of his way, and used his lunge to grab him by the cape and bodily hurl him off the ground and into the side of the Wind Stone. He grunted once as the wind was knocked out of him, then fell limp as Serana growled and stabbed the hateful thing in both its eyes. Black ichor spilled from its throat when she perforated that too, shanking it over and over again as it thrashed about in agony.

In a moment of savage bloodlust, she reached for one of the bony spikes on its shoulder and tore it loose with brute strength, then shoved the jagged end into the base of its neck, severing the brain stem and finally rendering it inert. Serana leapt from the Lurker's back as its dead form collapsed to the ground, a few heavy breaths exhaled as she dusted herself off and kicked the corpse. When she turned to check on Ketar, her relief at seeing him moving was snuffed out by a steadily growing urge to strangle Frea when she saw the blonde helping him up with a hand on his shoulder and an arm around his waist. The hand of the arm supporting his waist was _dangerously_ low—too low for Serana's taste.

So the vampire stomped her way over to them, splashing through the pool and grabbing Ketar's unoccupied hand without bothering to sheathe her dagger. She hauled him upright with a single, quick motion, eliminating the need for Frea to continue touching him. When she held on a split-second longer than necessary, Serana's glowing eyes narrowed and her top fangs bared. Frea just smirked and stepped away with a smug air, moving off to check on her freed, if still dazed, people. Once she was out of earshot, Serana turned back to Ketar and held him close.

"You okay?"

He blinked and stared at the Lurker's corpse for a while before coughing hard. "Yeah. I think I need to use this cape a little more sparingly. Maybe find a way to retract it when it's not in use."

Serana frowned. "Yeah. That could've been…bad."

"Well," he winced, "worse."

"Yeah."

They turned to face the workers and silently observed their confusion for a few moments before Serana spoke.

"What now?"

Ketar sighed. "We should get back to Storn, see if it worked. After all, the Wind Stone is just one of five scattered across Solstheim."

Apparently, Frea overheard that last bit and approached them. "True, but the Wind Stone was the closest to the village, and the most worrisome. Now that Miraak's hold over it has been broken, we should be able to drop the barrier without consequence, at least for a time. My father will know more."

He turned to the Elven workers, some arrayed in the chitin armor of Redoran guards, others in plainclothes. "Do you know your way back to Raven Rock?"

One of the guards stepped forward uncertainly. "Er…I think so, but…I'm not sure we'll make it there, weakened as we are."

Serana blinked. "Weakened?"

Frea nodded grimly. "Miraak had them working day and night without rest. The power that arrested their minds and bodies may have been able to overcome their fatigue, but hunger and thirst are another matter, and now that the spell is broken, even their exhaustion is catching up to them."

Ketar's lips pursed. "Can your village hold them for a while?"

She nodded. "The Skaal do not turn away travelers in need."

Ketar nodded. "Then lead on."

…

Ketar stood at the edge of the village center while the freed Elves and Skaal villagers were given food and lodgings for the night. At present, he was leaning against the side of one of the longhouses, waiting for Storn to be free to speak, as he was currently overseeing the arrangements. Serana had disappeared somewhere after excusing herself, though for what he didn't know, so at the present, Frea was the only one keeping him company.

"He's quite something, your father."

She blinked and smiled. "Aye. Storn has led the Skaal as shaman for many decades. I would be hard-pressed to find a man wiser than him in all Solstheim."

Ketar snorted derisively. "Considering the size of the population, or lack thereof, I'm not surprised."

Frea threw him a small glare.

He chuckled. "I'm just kidding. He must be made of sterner stuff than most to be able to maintain his cool in such a dire situation, especially since he's probably as exhausted as the refugees from having to maintain that barrier."

Frea frowned. "I too received the training he did."

"Oh?"

She nodded slowly. "As his firstborn, I am fated to become the next shaman after he passes to the All-Maker."

Ketar hummed. "That explains the talisman."

Frea chewed her lower lip. "It…is not a role I would have chosen for myself, but…" she frowned at the ground, "for the sake of my people, it is one I accept gladly."

He snorted. "Trust me, I know all about sucky obligations. I was born with one I didn't even _know_ about until I came to Skyrim."

She cocked her head at him. "You are not a native? Where are you from, then?"

Ketar frowned and pursed his lips. "It's a long story."

She waved at the crowd. "We have time."

He smiled and nodded absently, but remained silent. He felt a presence at his side some time later, and turned to see Serana leaning against him. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She smiled and shook her head, laying her ear against his chest as she gently rubbed his back.

Ketar turned back toward Storn, seeing the old man making his way toward them. He straightened up and disengaged from Serana.

"The very air has changed," said the elder. "We are safe, and you have succeeded." He extended a hand. "The Skaal are in your debt."

Ketar gripped his forearm. "Not at all. I just did what I had to. Still, I doubt this is the end of it."

Storn frowned. "Aye. I'm afraid that the Wind Stone is just one part of a larger puzzle. If your Voice alone managed to release my people from their servitude, then perhaps it can do the same at the other Stones. I doubt it will stop Miraak permanently, but it may slow his progress."

"Any ideas for a more permanent solution? If he intends to make his return after ages of absence, I doubt he's going to give that plan up without a fight."

Another frown. "That I cannot say. Though you may want to begin by retracing Miraak's steps. Doing so at Saering's Watch gave you the power to free the minds of his thralls. It may give you the knowledge to defeat him as well."

Ketar's lips pursed before he opened the rift and pulled _Waking Dreams_ from its depths. "Would _this_ help any?"

Storn's eyes widened at the sight of it. "That…is a dark thing. Unnatural. I would have nothing to do with it…but the Telvanni wizard, Neloth, may know more."

Ketar snorted derisively. "Of course. Why am I not surprised?"

The elder arched an eyebrow. "You've met."

Ketar's low growl was answer enough.

Storn sighed. "I'm afraid you'll have to bear with him if you are to gain the knowledge you seek. He came to us some time ago, asking about the Black Books. I believe he knows a great deal about them. Perhaps too much. Seek him to the south, in Tel Mithryn, and be cautious, Dragonborn. There is something else at work here."

Ketar bowed his head slightly and cleared his throat. "In the meantime, could we also sleep here tonight?" He grinned crookedly. "It's been one hell of a long day."

Storn smiled and chuckled. "Of course. We owe you much for what you've done."

"Thank you," he sighed in relief.

"I'll point you in the right direction," Frea said with a smile.

"Point _us_ , you mean," Serana countered.

Ketar stopped short and looked between them when they stared at each other for a tense moment.

 _Huh…weird._

Eventually, Frea smiled and tilted her head in assent. "Of course."

Frea led them toward a longhouse on the edge of the village, a strange tension in the air that he couldn't put his finger on. Eventually, he just threw his hands up and gave up on trying to figure it out.

…

"Sera…"

The way he exhaled her name like that always sent the most delicious shivers down her spine. Especially when she had him like putty in the palm of her hand. Or, against her lips. Serana grinned up at him, all teeth, as her tongue flicked against the skin of his abs, her body slowly rising to straddle his hips and lips claiming his. Over and over and over again, she pressed her mouth to his and groped every part of him she could reach. The longer the minutes dragged on, the more aggressive she became, until her fangs were gently scraping against the side of his neck, making him shiver and hold her closer.

His hands traveled across her mostly-bare back, fingers tangling in her hair as she wiggled against him and ran her hands up his sides. Her grip drifted to his hips, and unconsciously, her mind's eye flashed to earlier, and she realized she was touching the very spot Frea had held him earlier. An uncomfortable heat sprang up in her chest as she kissed him fiercely, devouring him bit by bit. Still, her mind assaulted her with memories of that woman, of her crude remarks and snide insinuations about their relationship.

 _More,_ sang her blood, _more!_

Ketar was gasping against her lips, unable to catch his breath. So caught up was she in her mind's assault that she failed to notice he was breathless in a bad way. Serana just kept pressing, on and on, reaching even further down and grabbing him by the rear, the part of him Frea had been staring at all day and would _never_ get to touch, if she had a say in it. She should've stopped at the alarmed yelp that came from his throat, but Sera was being carried away by her own turbulent emotions, further exacerbated by months of frustration. Without even realizing it, her arms began moving across her back and she was attempting to hump him in a half-delirious frenzy.

"Sera— _Serana_!"

Ketar's sharp cry, shouted in a tone that she'd only ever heard him use in a fight, managed to jolt her awake, and several things rapidly came into focus. Serana was breathing like she'd run all the way across Skyrim in a matter of minutes, her fingers were biting into Ketar's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, she'd somehow lost her top in the mix—and Kay was resolutely staring her in the eyes with an expression that was halfway between mortified and terrified.

Several rapid blinks cleared out the last of the red haze that had fallen over her vision, and Serana scrambled off him in horror. Her trembling fingers quickly found the discarded chest wrappings and pressed them to her skin as she stared wide-eyed at the ground. Her whole body was shaking with a mix of emotions she couldn't hope to untangle or explain.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, not realizing he was already speaking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Sera. Sera..."

She shrunk away from his touch, unbearable shame curling her up into a ball as she wrapped her arms around her knees. Serana resolutely refused to look him in the eye even as he sat down next to her on the bed.

"Sera, talk to me. Please."

She gulped and bowed her head, forehead leaning against her knees. "…y-you're mine, right?"

"…what?"

Her voice was painfully fragile, even to her own ears, as she straightened up somewhat and managed to meet his concerned gaze. "You're mine, and I'm yours…right?"

Ketar blinked a few times and stared at her confusedly. "O-Of course."

Unbidden, Serana's memories returned with a vengeance.

 _"Take my advice, sweetie, and stop taking this so seriously. Men don't like clingy women."_

Another slow gulp passed through her throat. "Are you sure?"

Ketar didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so he straightened up and furrowed his brows. "What has gotten _into_ you? What's this all about?"

Serana's jaw tightened. "Nothing. It's nothing."

He put a hand on her chin and turned her gaze back to him. "Hey— _that_ was _not_ nothing. You looked like you were in a _blood rage_."

She tensed up and looked away. "Sorry," she whispered. "Just…frustrated."

"…Sera, this isn't just about frustration. You haven't had this problem since we got together, and I've known from the very beginning that you'd like nothing more than to jump my bones."

She almost smiled at that.

"Talk to me, love. Please. I need to understand."

Serana dragged her gaze back to his with some effort. His eyes, so deep and blue, held her focus even as the rest of his face began to morph before her very eyes.

 _No…_ no _, it's not real! We have time!_

Another memory, another voice. _"Fifty, sixty years—perhaps less—and he'll be a shriveled old man, neither vigorous nor attractive. Did you even_ consider _that when you decided to give up your birthright for him?"_

She squeezed her eyes shut. _No…you're wrong…it's not…_

She saw the hurt, disappointed look in Ketar's eyes when she turned him down, saw the burning amulet of Mara left behind in defeat.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

Serana forced herself to do neither as she looked the beautiful man before her in the eye, and made her voice come out evenly as she said, "Maybe…we should spend some time apart."

Ketar blinked once, twice, very slowly. " _Excuse me_?"

Serana cleared her throat and chose her words carefully. "I…don't know what came over me just now." A blatant lie. "Until I get it sorted, I think it's for the best that we have some distance between us."

"Wha—where is this _coming_ from?!"

"Kay, come on. We've hardly spent a minute apart since defeating Harkon." She tried for levity and managed to achieve something somewhat passable. "You _have_ to be getting tired of me, at least a little bit."

"But—"

"A girl needs some time to herself every once in a while." She frowned. "Also, my mother contacted me a few hours ago, when we got back to the village. She got a lead on one of my father's missing artifacts and wants my help tracking it down."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "That seems…sudden. And convenient."

Her blood ran cold as she forced herself to keep smiling. "Relax, Kay. It's no big deal, really. Besides, this will give me the chance to ask her about this weird bloodlust, maybe find a way to counteract it so…" she frowned, " _that_ doesn't happen again."

He was frowning deeply, looking more concerned than anything else. "Why are you lying to me?"

Serana stared at him in silence, holding his gaze for almost a full minute. "I'll be leaving in the morning with the refugees from Raven Rock. Someone's gotta make sure they get back safely."

When she rolled over in bed, facing away from him, he reached a hand out. "Serana—"

"Good night, Kay."

Serana couldn't see the look on his face, but she could imagine.

It made her sick…mostly with herself.

It was a half-minute before she felt the bed shift with his weight. A few more seconds passed before she chanced a look over her shoulder, only to find him gone. She hadn't even heard him leave. The vampire stretched her fine hearing beyond the confines of the room to hear his near-indiscernible footfalls on the steps of the longhouse they'd been put up with. By where his steps ended, he was downstairs, lying down by the bonfire in the center of the building. When she confirmed she was alone, Serana rolled back over and nearly shredded the pillow in her grip. No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn't stop the steady stream of tears that stained the sheets.

…

Elsewhere, in the dimly lit grotto of the Ragged Flagon, two Nord men were entangled in a tense lock, one with his hands against the shoulders of the other. One was perfectly calm, at least on the outside. The other was…well, steaming would be putting things mildly.

"A week…you waited…a _week_!"

Brynjolf's lips pursed as he tried to reason with the man pinning him to a wall. "I couldn't figure out how to tell you."

Dirge smiled sardonically. "Oh yes, how _does_ one tell a man that his only brother was murdered? By his own _Guildmaster_ , no less!"

"Ketar did what he had to, nothing more, nothing less."

Dirge snarled and got up in his face. "We don't turn on our own, Brynjolf."

Brynjolf's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Maul wasn't one of us anymore."

His teeth bared. "He was my _brother_ ," he spat through clenched teeth.

Dirge stopped short when a freezing cold touch was felt against the side of his neck.

"Let him go. Now."

The Nord snarled at the interloper. "Stay out of this, wench! This has nothing to do with you!"

"That's my friend you're threatening, so yes, I think it has plenty to do with me. Now let him go."

The enraged Nord resumed glaring at an impassive Brynjolf.

Lydia pressed the edge of Chillrend further into Dirge's neck. "That _wasn't_ a request."

With another second of scowling, Dirge abruptly released Brynjolf's collar and stepped away from the pair, the point of Lydia's sword still angled at his throat.

"Mark my words," he said. "This isn't over."

Brynjolf pushed away from the wall and took a step toward Dirge. "I won't stop you from leaving, but I would recommend you take a serious moment to think this over and _not_ make any rash decisions."

"Piss off, Brynjolf." He tore the hood from his armor. "If Maul wasn't 'one of us,' then neither am I now."

Brynjolf's lips pursed. "If that's the case, then pack your things and get out."

Lydia and Brynjolf watched as he stormed his way toward the exit, the former not sheathing her sword until he was well out of sight.

"He's going to be a problem."

Brynjolf frowned. "I'm afraid so. Nothing we can do, though. Ketar tied my hands."

Lydia sighed. "I know." She scowled. "Damn him and his sense of honor."

"Aye. But he'd never forgive us if we did intervene. For now we'll just have to wait and see how this plays out. Let Dirge make the first move."

"As long as I get to tear him a new one, I'm okay with that plan."

Bryn snorted and shook his head. "That makes two of us, lass."

* * *

AN: There we go, another one for you. I'm hoping to get more out soon, because I'm really looking forward to the next story arc, but school's about to start back up again, so we'll see. Anyway, I don't really have much to say about this chapter except that I hope you enjoyed it. Like I said, I didn't really like the Dragonborn content, so I'll be making some pretty significant changes, or at least additions. Finally found a way to make Miraak a compelling villain, which, to me, was the greatest flaw of the expansion's main quest.

Stay tuned for more. I'm gonna try and write another chapter in the next couple days.

Drake out.

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen – Einstein's Wrong: "You knew…"/Story of the Firsts/Alduin and Miraak's descent into depravity/images vanish

TES V: Skyrim – Kyne's Peace: "I was always there"/gifts of the Aedra/return to Nirn

Dragon language translations:

" _Thuri_ " - Master, or Lord  
" _Ofan nii niid hadrim_ , _zeymah._ " - Pay it no mind, brother.


	8. The Hunter and the Hunted

"I've always wondered how the Dunmer do it."

"What?"

"Make entire fortresses out of giant mushrooms. I mean, seriously, the most creative people usually get with mushrooms is making them into potage. But House Telvanni? Nope. Rapidly-grown magic mushrooms that can hold up to fire and significant mechanical strain. I think I'd be more impressed if I didn't know who built this place."

Frea arched a blonde eyebrow at Ketar's statement. "Your first conversation was that bad?"

Ketar frowned. "No, but the vibe coming off him was. It took all of two minutes for me to figure out he's a complete egomaniac with too much power and zero thought for the people around him, except for what they can give him." He grunted as they climbed down the rocky approach to the massive fungal tower. "If I had to wager a guess, he's a high-functioning sociopath who's lived for more than a century."

"Sheesh. You got all that from two minutes?"

"I've had a lot of practice gauging people's motives and intentions over the years. First impressions, for me, aren't often wrong."

She nodded slowly while they approached the entrance of the giant mushroom. A smirk adorned her lips as Ketar readied himself to open the door. "What was your first impression of me?"

He stopped short and looked over at her with a small frown. His lips pursed tightly as he thought about it for a moment. "I…don't think you'll like the answer to that question."

Frea blinked in confusion as he pushed the circular double-doors open and strode through, his cloak catching on the edge of the frame for a moment before following him inside. The first thing she noticed upon entering was a glowing pillar of transparent blue energy emanating from a large runed plate in the floor, where both of them were standing. The walls around them were composed of thick, twined roots going straight upward, too thick to use for climbing. Ketar's head cocked partway to one side as he waved his right hand at the plate, the sapphire on his ring finger glowing faintly for a moment before Frea felt her feet leave the ground. Both of them began drifting upward, Frea's stomach doing an uncomfortable dance in her gut as gravity ceased to exist.

Her jaw dropped as soon as they reached the top.

From the outside, and the bottom of the elevator well, Tel Mithryn looked like an overgrown toadstool, but inside was a wizard's tower the likes of which she'd never imagined. The fungal structure was still apparent in the amorphous honeycomb structure of the walls, but the entrance atrium alone was filled with tables, bookshelves, and tomes of high value that no doubt bore many magical secrets. Oh, and one very irritated Dunmer wizard currently pointing a fireball in their direction. Frea's right hand snapped toward her shoulder, where her Stalhrim war axe was sheathed, but Ketar held a hand up to stop her. A moment later, recognition shone in the wizard's features, and he lowered his hands as he appraisingly looked Ketar over.

"It's you again," said Neloth. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Ketar frowned and strode toward him. "I found _something_ , something I don't fully understand." He opened his strange sundial portal and pulled out the hateful Black Book. "I heard you might have some answers."

Neloth's red eyes widened at the sight, both of the book and Ketar's magic. "Well now, of the many things I could've guessed would be in that temple, _this_ was not one of them." He smirked at Ketar. "You read it too, didn't you? I can see it in your eyes."

Ketar's lips pursed. "I need to know what I'm dealing with, and how I can use it against Miraak."

The Dunmer snorted and waved them toward a nearby room that looked like a study. "That tome you hold in your hand is not a bludgeon you can swing around blindly. The Black Books of Hermaeus Mora are dangerous artifacts that have driven many an enterprising scholar mad."

"After reading its pages," Ketar said, "I can certainly understand why."

"No one knows exactly where the Black Books came from," the wizard continued. "Some appear to have been written far in the past, others might be from the future. Apparently time is more malleable if you're the Daedric Prince of fate and destiny."

"And forbidden knowledge," Frea added with a frown.

Neloth finally cast Frea a look and frowned. "Who's this?"

Ketar blinked. "My companion. Don't mind her."

Frea arched an eyebrow at his appraisal, but remained silent as Neloth grunted dismissively and leaned over a desk.

"If your intention is to use Mora's knowledge to defeat Miraak, you are either extremely foolish or extremely desperate, or perhaps both."

"It wouldn't be the first time he and I have crossed paths," Ketar countered. "A little over a year ago, I read the Oghma Infinium."

Neloth's eyebrows shot upward. "Did you now? That's...I've searched for it myself for many years without success..." A flicker of…something passed over his features. Something perhaps akin to respect. "Well then, you should know better than anyone that Hermaeus Mora is not to be trifled with. But he is subtler than most of the other Daedric Princes, as you would expect of the prince of knowledge and fate. You seem to have escaped the fate of many who find themselves ensnared forever by the lure of his secrets." His head cocked with a smirk. "Or...perhaps not."

"No one controls me, Neloth. That's been proven by ample time and evidence."

"And yet one such as you was apparently driven out of his mind. If your intent is to follow in his footsteps, that is a dangerous path indeed. Hermaeus Mora gives nothing away for free. You may end up like Miraak himself."

"That's _not_ going to happen." Ketar, it seemed, was running short on patience with the eccentric mage. "Look, the Black Book I have won't help me stop Miraak until I become more powerful. I almost died the last time I tried, so I'll need another. Point me in the right direction and I'll be out of your hair."

"Now, now, don't be so hasty. I never said I wouldn't help. On the contrary…" He looked up in thought, voice wistful. "Two power-mad Dragonborn…" He smiled in a way that made Frea uneasy. "It could be _very_ interesting."

Ketar's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Neloth waved dismissively. "They're not hard to locate once you know how to look for them. I have one here that I've been using to locate more."

"You have a Black Book?"

Neloth gave him a deadpan look. "I haven't been idle while this fascinating madness engulfed Solstheim, but I'm quite sure mine is unconnected with this Miraak. I do, however, know where to find a Black Book that can help you." He frowned. "I haven't been able to get it, but…" he looked Ketar over appraisingly, "maybe together we can unlock the secrets the Dwemer left behind."

"The Dwemer?" Frea asked.

"Oh yes. Forbidden knowledge was somewhat of a specialty of the Dwarves, eh? You don't think they would just leave it alone, do you?"

"I've seen enough of their legacy to know the answer to that question," said the Dragonborn. "Just tell me where to go and I'll get it."

"I'm afraid it isn't that simple. If it was, I would have the book already."

Ketar's eyes rolled. "Of _course_ it isn't. Friggin' Dwemer."

"It seems the ancient Dwemer discovered this book and took it to study. I found their 'reading room' in the ruins of Nchardak to the north. The book is there, but it's sealed in a protective case which I wasn't able to open. But if you've truly survived direct contact with Hermaeus Mora…then perhaps the two of us together will be able to get at the book."

"Why would _that_ make a difference?" Frea asked.

Neloth smirked. "Because only one with a superior mind could walk through an experience like that with his faculties intact."

Frea looked over at Ketar, seeing only a blank, neutral expression on his face that gave away nothing.

After a few moments of silence, the Breton took an audible breath and waved at the elevator, his tone markedly neutral. "Just point the way, wizard."

…

Entering Whiterun without Ketar on her arm was an…interesting experience for Serana. For the whole two days to get back, she'd been secluded below deck, going from one room to another and sleeping in the shadowed rafters. She'd pretty much avoided contact with anyone up to that point, apart from payment of the captain and what was needed to be polite. Upon landing in Windhelm, she'd promptly disembarked without a word to anyone, and made her way back toward Whiterun on foot. Now, walking through the gates of the neutral city alone made her feel…nauseous, in more ways than one.

Most of the guards recognized her by sight at this point, and were wondering where Ketar was, a fact they made vocal. That her ready answer was, "He's on a business trip in Solstheim," just made her stomach churn even worse. By the time she entered Breezehome, she was ready for a feeding, and knew right where to find some of Ketar's blood. Ever since Vingalmo and his disciples had nearly sucked her dry, Ketar regularly drained himself of blood and kept it stored in vials he hid in all of his houses, and around all of Skyrim, in fact. How he had the time or strength to create so many caches was beyond her, but under circumstances like these, where they were separated for an extended period, she wasn't about to complain.

Serana pushed open the front door of her home and was immediately greeted by two familiar faces.

"Serana!"

"You're back, lass!"

The vampire smiled a little. "Yes, just for a little while." She reached toward a loose plank in one of the walls and pulled it loose, retrieving a vial of Ketar's blood. "I'm looking for my mother. Is she still around?" She popped the cork of the vial and downed it in one shot.

"Aye," said Brynjolf, "she's out back with Agmaer and Brelyna."

Serana frowned. "Brelyna? Doing what?"

"Sounded like magic stuff. Who knows?"

Lydia, meanwhile, was frowning and staring at the door. "Where's Ketar?"

Serana tensed and tried to remain nonchalant as she replaced the plank. "He had some more business to take care of in Solstheim, and my mother needed my help here."

She arched an eyebrow. "Since when?"

Sera blinked. "Excuse me?"

Lydia stood up and strode toward the vampire. "Since when is that something you two do?"

Serana frowned. "It wouldn't be the first time. Last time I visited my mother, Ketar was halfway across Skyrim hunting a dragon."

The housecarl's head cocked partway. "I have been known to be about as subtle as a mammoth in heat, but there is one thing I've picked up during my time with Ketar: the ability to tell when someone's holding something back."

She tensed and frowned, jaw tightening. "Before…before we left for Riverwood, Ketar proposed to me."

Both Nords froze in place, eyes wide.

"…and I said no." Sera looked down. "I just wasn't ready for that yet." She started pacing, hands nervously playing with her hair. "Then, over there, something happened that…made me reevaluate our relationship." She took a breath and forced the last bit out. "And we decided that maybe we need some time apart, to figure ourselves out."

Lydia's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We?"

Serana's jaw clenched. "Okay, _I_ need some time." She glared at the other woman. "Happy now?" A derisive snort left her as she stomped toward the back exit.

She stopped short when a bare fist blurred through the space in front of her face and punched a hole through the wall on her left. Slowly, Serana turned to the source of the blow and stared wide-eyed at Lydia, who was glaring at her with a frightfully expressionless face. Sera nearly shuddered when she met the housecarl's eyes, which were a chillingly cold hazel green.

"This," she said darkly, "better be a phase, Serana." Her jaw clenched visibly. "This damn well better be a phase."

Brynjolf cautiously stepped toward her. "Lydia—"

"Relax, Bryn." Lydia never took her eyes off Serana's. "I'm just reminding Serana of a promise she made…and one I made her in return."

Serana gulped as her mind flashed back to a memory two months previous.

…

 _"You two are such a mess."_

 _"I know!" Serana slumped over partway, staring off to the side. "And now I don't know what to do. He poured out his heart to me, and I just…froze."_

 _Lydia's lips pursed. "Tell me, have you ever felt that way about someone before?"_

 _She blinked a few times. "I…I don't know." Her mind drifted back to the look in his eyes when he'd said it, her body warming at the memory. "I don't think so."_

 _"Then of_ course _you're going to freeze. I think, for perhaps the first time in your relationship,_ you're _the one who's out of their depth."_

 _Serana groaned and hid her face in her hands._

 _Lydia just laughed. "That's okay, you know. As long as you don't let yourself be frightened into doing something stupid."_

 _"Like what?"_

 _"Well, running away, for one. Or shutting down, shutting him out."_

 _Her lips pursed tightly._

 _"…you weren't considering that, were you?"_

 _"No…I just—"_

 _"Good, because if you ever hurt him like that, I'd kill you."_

 _Sera snorted a laugh._

 _Lydia looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "I'm perfectly serious."_

 _She smiled and nodded. "I know."_

…

A few more seconds of silence passed before Lydia slowly pulled her fist from the wall and allowed Serana to pass, which she did immediately. She heard Brynjolf approach Lydia as soon as the tension passed; caught a whiff of copper from Lydia's hand as she walked out the door.

…

Ketar's hackles were up to his neck, and it was barely past breakfast. Bad enough that he'd had to deal with Frea's incessant flirting and innuendo for the past two days—alone. Now he had to deal with an overly aggressive Nord woman and a centuries-old egomaniac. At least those two days had been productive, a small boon that distracted him from the raging leech of pain eating away at his soul. Frea had been a necessary part of his days for one reason: to locate and cleanse the five All-Maker Stones. It appeared he'd been right about the role of the Lurkers in Miraak's plan; at each and every Stone, one had arisen immediately after cleansing.

Given that they'd battled four of them in the past three days, by number five, he was _very_ proficient at killing those abominations. A few seconds' time was enough to render it inert, before Frea could even lift a finger. That had been an…interesting day, to say the least. Started with an assault on the Water Stone that left Ketar, well…wet. Waterlogged, actually. The extra weight absorbed by his cape and cloth undergarments made his movements squishy and…squeaky. And if that hadn't been bad enough, it had been an _exceptionally_ cold day, so by the time they reached the final Earth Stone, he was turning blue and borderline hypothermic.

Thus, why he charged the Lurker, screaming like a madman, leapt six feet into the air, and took its head clean off before it could even straighten fully.

At present, he was trying very hard not to scowl constantly. On the way to Nchardak, Neloth babbled incessantly about his achievements and investigations into the Dwemer and Mora's Black Books. Honestly, he couldn't have cared less, but to avoid damaging the bastard's no-doubt monumental ego (and withdrawing his help in the process), Ketar wisely kept his mouth shut and took it. Well, more like he tried his absolute hardest to tune him out while simultaneously forcing his mind elsewhere. He was only partially successful.

By the time they reached the Dwarven ruin, his fingers itched to strangle something, and as luck would have it, he got a few volunteers almost immediately.

"The Dwemer certainly knew how to build for the ages," said Neloth, waving at the structure, which was an artificial island some eight hundred feet off the shore, connected partially by a half-collapsed bridge and tilting parapets. "These towers have outlasted their creators by millennia. The book is housed inside that dome." He pointed at the massive, gold-turquoise central structure. "I'll need to unlock the door for—"

A telltale _whizz_ grabbed Ketar's attention a split-second before he shoved Neloth to the ground, moving his head out of the way of an incoming arrow.

The Dunmer scowled. "I had to clean out the riff-raff last time I was here, too." He drew an ebony dagger from his belt. "Where do they _come_ from?"

Ketar took one good look at the edge of the bridge and the choppy waters below before unclasping the cloak around his shoulders and throwing it into the rift. Another incoming arrow was repelled with a magic ward before he drew Zephyr from his belt and unloaded ebony arrows toward the enemy.

"Reavers!" Frea cried out while ducking behind a collapsed pillar.

It took an extra hundred feet to be able to see them clearly, but when Ketar did, it rapidly became apparent that these were no common bandits. Arrayed in iron, furs, chitin, and the same kind of Nordic armor Frea wore; they were tightly organized and well-trained—and every last one of them was Dunmer. In the early morning sun, their dark blue skin made them easy to pick out, even at that distance. His aim zeroed in on one of the archers, two ebony arrows released in rapid succession. Both missed their mark, but at no fault of his. Clearly these "Reavers" were quite experienced in getting out of harm's way. To survive in as harsh an environment as Solstheim, he should have expected nothing less.

Still, he frowned in thought. "We need to get closer!"

Ketar sprang out of cover after the next salvo of arrows and sprinted for a curving ramp at the far end of the bridge, shuffling and weaving to avoid incoming missiles. Frea followed behind him, as did Neloth, who was preparing a strange-looking spell on the way. Ketar sent another ebony arrow toward the enemy, managing to tag one of the more heavily-armored Reavers in the calf. The archer he'd taken a shot at earlier loosed an arrow at Neloth this time, but the Telvanni wizard's spell rendered it ineffective. Specifically, by conjuring a fragmented collection of floating rocks, one of which the arrow collided with. It took Ketar a moment to realize that the pile of rocks was alive.

When he did, he couldn't help but stare for a second or two as it broke apart and began churning in a whirlwind, effectively forming a maelstrom that deflected and threw away any arrows fired in their direction.

"We have a mobile shield," Neloth said. "Make use of it!"

Ketar's lips pursed as he looked around for a way to get closer.

"There!" Frea shouted with a point of her ice axe. "A ramp that leads to their platform!"

Kay threw her a deadpan look a second before he pointed lower. "There, a large body of freezing cold water!"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You telling me you're afraid to get wet?"

"After last time, I am a bit leery. Even most places in Skyrim don't get as bitterly cold as here."

"If you two are quite done bickering about our next move," Neloth interrupted, "I'd suggest you make a decision before my Ash Guardian runs out of time." He glared at them with his arms crossed. "And _I_ run out of patience."

Ketar restrained the urge to stick his tongue out at the ornery Dunmer and cocked his head slightly before drawing an arrow from his back and touching his left hand's index and middle fingers to the front of its shaft. The Dwarven bow went slack a moment later, the _whizz_ of Ketar's arrow splitting the air as it flew toward the tower directly between them and the central structure—which happened to be slightly below them elevation-wise. The ebony arrowhead dug into the gray stones with ease, firmly anchoring the magical tether he'd affixed to it. Ketar wound the faintly glowing cable around a thin, half-collapsed pillar and held one end tightly.

"You two, get across! I'll come over last!"

"What?" Frea asked. "Why?"

"He has to be in physical contact with the cable for it to maintain its state," Neloth explained with a bored tone.

He strode up to the zip-line and threw one of the baggy sleeves of his robe over the cable before gripping it firmly and pushing himself into a slide.

Frea's head whipped toward Ketar. "What about you?"

He nodded at the summoned Daedra between him and the Reavers' assault. "I've got _that_ thing. Now get going!"

She nodded and stowed her metal axe on her back, using the ice one's head as a hook to anchor herself as she zipped across the gap. The moment she was across, Ketar launched himself toward the line, his gloves taking the friction of the transit and eyes darting toward the Reavers, the lead bowman of which was taking potshots at him. He tucked his knees into his chest, an arrow flying just under his body as he released the magical tether and touched down on the far end, the ethereal cable fading away into nothingness. Another arrow speared for his throat, but he smacked it away with an arm of his bow before returning fire with a triple-shot that nailed two of the bowman's guards in the gut.

Neloth channeled an electrical spell in his left hand for a moment, then released it toward one of the other Reavers, an axe-wielding Elf who was charging across the walkway of the opposing tower in an attempt to circle around toward them. Ketar's eyes widened in surprise and no small amount of alarm when, instead of a simple lightning strike, Neloth's spell both electrocuted and pulled its target; an all-too-familiar electrostatic effect that yanked the Reaver into the water with electricity still coursing through his body. Ketar cast the Dunmer wizard a long look before refocusing on the enemy.

A different arrow type, this one with magical runes etched into its broadhead, was drawn back and aimed at the lead bowman, Ketar's aim shifting at the last second to hit the ground right next to him and his shielded guard. The ebony missile exploded on impact, in a different way than any other arrow he'd designed before. After mastering the technique behind Serana's kinetic bolt, he'd applied his considerable enchanting expertise to a new batch of runed ebony arrows that shattered on impact with pure concussive force. The effect was both massive kinetic damage within a small area and the radial emission of long, needle-like shards of ebony that served as armor-piercing shrapnel.

The effect of the arrow he'd released next to the bowman was as expected: the concussive force of the arrow's detonation knocked over the two targets caught in its radius, and planted no less than a half-dozen pieces of shrapnel in their lower-middle bodies. The agonized shrieks of the two Reavers reached Ketar from across the distance between their towers as Frea charged across the catwalk connecting their platform to the central structure. Neloth bombarded a cluster of metal-arrayed bandits with a powerful chain lightning spell, which effectively fried them from the inside out. The only one left standing was a bulked-up Reaver clad head to toe in chitin armor, who barely seemed affected.

This one bore a large metal greatsword of Nordic design, and was charging toward Frea full-tilt. She met him in the middle with both her axes hooked against his blade when he swung for her horizontally. The ice axe disengaged and swung upward, knocking his sword away from his chest before she tried to bury the axe-head in his rib cage. The Reaver withdrew a step, the axe just missing him before he lunged forward with a pommel strike to her head. His light chitin armor and muscular legs allowed him to dash forth with such speed that she didn't even have the chance to dodge, and received a powerful blow to her forehead, opening a gash just above her left eyebrow.

She only stumbled back a few feet before twirling her axes and lunging forward with several rapid horizontal strikes. Ketar fired an arrow into one of the Reaver's allies, one with a steel cutlass who was making to strike Frea from the side. Neloth, for his part, was already making his way toward Nchardak's barred front door and a pedestal next to it. Ketar cocked his head and shifted his vision back to Frea's duel. The Nord warrior was spinning in a whirlwind of axe-blades, battering the Reaver's defenses and scoring more than a few notches in his thick blade. Strangely, they only appeared when she struck the greatsword with her ice axe.

 _Gonna have to ask her about that thing when this is over,_ he thought.

Another fragmentation arrow was nocked and released toward a group of three Reavers, who scattered in opposite directions and seemed minimally affected by the explosion. Still coming, the Reavers drew weapons and charged straight for Frea. Snarling, Ketar lunged into a sprint and stowed Zephyr in his belt. From the downward-sloping walkway leading to the central platform, Ketar leapt clear over the interlocked Frea and Reaver captain with a falling draw of Dragonborn's Fury. His downward blow fell like a broken stalactite, cleaving a deep gash in the stones where one of the bandits had just stood when he rolled out of the way. The two others thrust their cutlasses at Ketar's torso from opposite directions in a staggered formation, forcing him to weave from side to side to avoid them.

The recovered third Reaper moved in from diagonally behind him, his loud steps giving away a lunging strike that prompted Ketar to roll to the side and spin around mid-tumble. This gave him the perfect angle to counter the third man's strike with a rising slash to the midsection that cleaved straight through his chain-link armor and severed several major blood vessels within. He hit the deck as Ketar re-faced the other two, blade held two-handedly at his side, tip pointed outward. His dark blue eyes narrowed under his hood as they paced around him, one bending down to check on their fallen comrade and snarling a moment later.

Ketar lifted one hand off the hilt of his sword and waved them forward, the snarling one lunging first with a rage-driven but surprisingly measured thrust that came dangerously close to piercing his chest. Ketar had to give it to him—he was fast—very fast. But the Last Dragonborn had battled _vampires_ , for Shor's sake. This Dunmer cutthroat was nothing, an uncommonly skilled bandit, but a mere bandit nonetheless. As such, he found himself heaving on the ground after Ketar shunted his guard aside with his sword and planted a leaping knee into his solar plexus. The still-standing Reaver moved in with several falling diagonal strikes in rapid succession, each easily deflected by Ketar.

Still, the bandit didn't overextend himself. It was as if those light blows were just to test Ketar's defenses. Well, two could play at that game. Shifting to a close-grip configuration on the Fury's longer hilt for more torque, Ketar twirled his blade back and around, releasing it at the peak of his swing to exert maximum reach and power behind a one-handed strike aimed at the Reaver's shoulders. Several more blows like this were leveled at him in large, sweeping motions; each either dodged or parried aside without directly meeting his blade. He almost smiled at the Dark Elf's skill.

Almost.

Ketar's twelfth sweeping strike was met with the same deflecting swipe as the last, but the Dragonborn stopped his blade just before their weapons met, then snapped his other hand to the pommel and used his wider grip to rapidly pivot the sword around the other side. The black dragonbone blade buried itself in the Dunmer's neck, severing his jugular artery when Ketar pulled the sword back to his hip in a one-directional sawing motion. The Reaver hit the ground a moment later. The last Reaver, the one he'd decked, slammed into him from behind with a sprinting shoulder charge that nearly laid him out.

Ketar stumbled and managed to regain his footing just in time to swing the Fury up one-handedly and block a falling strike. His disorientation left him open to a kick to the chest that _did_ lay him out. One palm pressing against the stones to push him up, he tried to roll away, but found that impossible when a powerful diagonal strike from the Reaver separated him from his sword. A swing in the opposite direction nicked Ketar's chestpiece when he let himself fall flat against the stones. The bandit shifted his cutlass to an underhanded grip and stabbed downward, Ketar finally managing to roll sideways into a crouch.

From that low stance, he slammed the bandit's blade, which was half-buried between two stones, with a hard side-kick. The powerful blow broke the sword in half and threw the bandit off-balance enough to leave him open to a follow-up mule kick to the gut. Ketar was on his feet in the blink of an eye, upper lip twitching with a snarl with his fisted hands in front of his face. The Reaver backpedaled a few steps, swiping at Ketar with his now dagger-sized cutlass. His strikes never came anywhere close to landing, and the way the Breton was moving was _really_ starting to unnerve him, if the way he began withdrawing faster was any indication.

In response, Ketar pressed the attack, coming in with a lightning-fast torrent of jabs and uppercuts to the Dunmer's face and body. The Reaver desperately tried to fend him off with his broken weapon, but Ketar was relentless, smacking the cutlass aside mid-swing and using that same hand to grip his enemy by the throat. That hold kept him in place long enough for Ketar to slam his right fist into the bridge of his nose with all his weight behind the blow. A sickening crack was heard as the Dunmer cried out in pain. Ketar never let up for a second. One unarmed blow after the next impacted the bandit's face and rib cage, Ketar's leather-knuckled gloves and boots adding extra hardness to his strikes.

It took only three seconds for the Reaver to be unable to swing his weapon. Another two passed before he could no longer keep his hands up. After a particularly hard hook to the jaw that sent the Reaver reeling, Ketar twirled his body in a low tornado kick that completely dislocated the bandit's left knee. Crying out in agony, the Dunmer's crippled leg collapsed, forcing him to a kneeling crouch that left him completely exposed. Pausing for a moment to reorient himself, Ketar launched himself upward and forward in a rolling thunder kick that dropped both heels on his enemy, one impacting his shoulder, the other smashing his jaw with yet another loud crack.

With his side against the ground, Ketar rolled toward his fallen opponent and turned him face-up, straddling his hips and staring down at his bloodied features.

And with a bare of his teeth, he rained a torrent of pure agony on his enemy.

His knuckles slammed the Dunmer's face over and over and over again, in rapid succession of blows that snapped and popped with the impact of leather against flesh and fracturing bone. Later, he wouldn't be able to tell how long he wailed on the unfortunate Reaver, but at some point, he felt a hand on his shoulder and paused just long enough to hear Frea's protesting voice.

"I think you got him," she said, tone audibly unnerved.

Ketar blinked once, twice, staring at the bloody, swollen mess of what used to be the Reaver's face. His head cocked to one side briefly, almost curiously, before he made a decision.

…

Frea couldn't help but shiver at the cold, malevolent chuckle that came from Ketar's throat just moments after she'd stopped his unarmed onslaught.

"Funny thing," he said, that unnerving laughter still in his voice as he reached down toward the bandit's head.

He gripped the Dunmer's hair and chin in each hand, and with a twist of his arms, wrenched the bandit's neck a hundred degrees in the wrong direction with a nauseating _snap_. Frea flinched and stared at Ketar as he slowly got up and dusted himself off, casting her a brief, dismissive glance as he walked past.

"I don't remember asking your opinion."

Frea stood stock-still, frozen as the surface of Lake Fjalding as she stared down at the mutilated features of the corpse at her feet. The telltale _click_ of Dragonborn's Fury returning to its sheath sounded from behind her, snapping her out of her stupor. Frea turned around slowly, numbly and followed behind Ketar as he made his way toward the now-open entrance of Nchardak.

A harsh gulp passed through her throat as she forced her bile back down.

…

Serana was still frowning when she found Valerica and the other two. The sight of the three of them bent over a makeshift table made of some plywood laid on four cylindrical logs sent her eyebrows upward.

"Um…something I should know about?"

Valerica turned to her daughter and smiled. "Serana. You made it."

She nodded slowly, casting a glance at Agmaer and Brelyna, who were intently looking over something on the table and whispering to each other about it. "You mentioned you had a lead."

The elder vampire nodded and waved at the table, which contained several parchments and open tomes. "That's why these two are here as well. Turns out we're not looking for one artifact, but two."

Serana frowned. "Which two?"

"The Amulet of Riving," the dark elf girl answered, "and the Mace of Molag Bal."

Sera tensed at the mention of the Daedric Lord. "Father had the Mace?"

"For a time, yes," Valerica replied. "However, I managed to glean from some of his journals that it vanished from the castle about a hundred years before you awoke."

"Vanished? Not stolen?"

Brelyna perked up. "Daedric artifacts tend to be…capricious; many even bear a mind of their own. Like the Staff of Magnus, some of them return to the source or are relocated when their user becomes too powerful or holds them for too long."

Serana frowned at an open tome bearing a semblance of the Mace, voice quiet. "That's why he offered it to Kay…"

Agmaer blinked. "What?"

Her head shook. "Nothing. Where do we find them?"

"I have no definite location," said Valerica, "but there are two equally viable directions." She motioned to the Nord and Dark Elf. "Thus why these two are here."

"So, we're splitting up?"

Valerica nodded and smiled. "I thought it high time I spent some quality time with my daughter." She placed a hand on Serana's shoulder and gripped it firmly.

Sera nearly winced, not at her grip, but at how closely Valerica had just mirrored some of Serana's last words to Ketar. Still, she forced herself to focus. "What exactly _is_ the Amulet of Riving?"

Brelyna frowned and waved at another open tome. "Exactly what the name implies. It imbues the user with knowledge of a very specific spell, allowing them to send a concentrated burst of kinetic energy to rip a target in half."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "Charming. Any idea who took it?"

Agmaer shrugged. "Probably a vampire who fled the castle, or someone who snuck in after the attack."

"Either way," said Valerica, "they must be someone of considerable skill to have escaped undetected, from the Dawnguard or myself."

"Which is why we're all here," Agmaer added. He nudged the Dark Elf at his side. "Brelyna tells me she helped Ketar fight a Dragon Priest once, in Labyrinthian to the north, and an actual dragon too."

Serana smirked. "So, she's here to match magical power while you're here to handle the more…physical aspects of this venture."

"Exactly." Agmaer burned up and waved his hands emphatically at Brelyna. "N-Not that I think you're not capable of handling yourself—it's just—"

The girl tried and failed to hold back a smirk.

"Uh…you know, two better than one?"

"Mhm," Brelyna hummed, turning back to the tomes to hide a grin.

Serana stared at her, then at Agmaer, her eyes slowly drifting to Valerica, who, while adorned with a neutral expression, had an impossibly smug air about her. Clearing her throat, Sera returned her attention to the task at hand. "Where are we headed?"

Valerica pointed to the map of Skyrim laid out on the table. "West. There are two notable locations that might hold the information we need. One, where we'll be sending these two, is in a Nordic ruin called Ragnvald, and the other a pawn shop in Solitude."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "A pawn shop? Seriously?"

"Quite. The skeevy little mongrel who runs the place is a right con man."

"I meant that we're going into a populated city with the tightest security in Skyrim, and _they're_ headed into a deathtrap."

"Oh no," Brelyna replied, "Ketar cleared it out some time ago. Apart from a few undead stragglers, the place should be pretty much empty."

Serana frowned. "Then what makes you think there's a lead there?"

Valerica flipped a few pages in the tome that pertained to the Amulet. "Before he was cursed to undeath, the Dragon Priest who took residence there, Otar the Mad, was gifted the Amulet of Riving by his dragon overlord. It was meant as both a weapon and a sign of fealty. As such, I suspect the Amulet may also have been a means of tracking and communicating with Otar over great distances."

"Like Nocturnal's Embrace?"

She tilted her head. "Similar, yes, but with dragon magic."

Serana's lips pursed. "I think I left the person best suited to understand that in Solstheim."

"Fortunately for us," Brelyna interrupted, "he taught me a thing or two about their specific brand of arcana, and I've kept studying ever since."

Sera's head cocked. "Does that mean you know _Dovahzul_?"

She smiled. "A little, yes. He left me a tome or two on it as a gift after he became Arch-Mage."

The vampire's lips pursed. "Then…could you teach me a little more on the road?"

Brelyna blinked in surprise. "If you'd like, sure. Though you'd probably be better off learning this from him."

Serana nodded. "Of course."

Valerica looked between them for a moment before pushing off the table. "It's settled then. We leave immediately."

The tomes and maps were gathered up and stored in a bag hanging from Valerica's shoulder as the foursome made their way toward the back entrance of Breezehome. Serana was loathe to go inside after Lydia's…outburst, which had made her about sixteen kinds of uncomfortable. Still, halfway through the door, she briefly made eye contact with Lydia, who still seemed upset with her, but was definitely calmer than before.

"You all heading out?" Lydia asked.

"Yes," replied Agmaer, "thanks for hosting us."

The housecarl threw the kid a smile. "No problem at all. It's…nice to have guests." She returned to frowning a moment later. "But if you _are_ going out, there's something you should know."

Serana frowned back. "Okay?"

Brynjolf stepped out from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel. "Remember Maul?"

"The merc who was killed the night of Maven's arrest? Yeah, why?"

He sighed. "His brother, Dirge, is a member of the Guild. Or, was, anyway. I told him what happened a few days ago; Ketar insisted on it."

"He didn't take it too well," Lydia added. "Point of fact he all but swore vengeance. So, if you get the chance, warn Ketar."

Brynjolf's jaw tightened. "And keep your eyes peeled. Dirge was a cutthroat bandit before he joined up with us, a habit his brother never managed to kick. He's not above using the people close to Ketar to get back at him, so watch your own back as well."

Serana nodded. "Thanks for the warning. We'll be careful."

Lydia crossed her arms. "You'd better. None of us would forgive you if you lost to a lowlife like Dirge."

Serana shot her a deadpan glare. "Really? You have _that_ low an opinion of me?"

Lydia just kept staring.

Sera gulped slightly and nodded with a frown as she turned for the exit. "Point taken."

…

In the almost two and a half years since he'd arrived in Skyrim, many things had changed for Ketar. His complete and utter _hatred_ for Dwemer ruins was not one of them. If he didn't already despise the Dwemer for what they did to the Falmer, the insufferable, convoluted mess that was their engineering certainly would've tipped that scale. Upon entering Nchardak, Ketar and the others had immediately come within sight of the Black Book they were looking for, kept safely in an old reading room. The only problem was, it was encased in the floor beneath their feet, behind a six-inch plate of glass and Dwemer metal that was nigh-impenetrable, even for his Voice.

Thus, why he and Frea were rooting around in Nchardak's _extremely_ hazardous flooded basement for the last of four more Dwemer control cubes to activate a series of boilers to power the reading room. This, unfortunately, was a task that required them to brave long-flooded chambers in their hunt. The cubes themselves were a familiar tool, encountered—coincidentally enough—the last time he'd found himself entangled with Hermaeus Mora. Though, that time, the cubes had had a distinctly different use. Specifically, for the reception of information instead of activating machinery. Neloth used one to unseal the door outside, and Ketar was currently using that same one, and others they'd picked up, to activate pumps that drained the basement and opened a path to the other cubes.

Neloth himself was sitting pretty in one of the other chambers, claiming to need time to study the Dwemer machinery he hadn't gotten the chance to observe earlier. Honestly, the only reason Ketar hadn't protested was because the Elf, quite frankly, creeped him the hell out, for a number of reasons—not the least of which the fact that he was a complete and utter sociopath. That and the strange electrostatic spell he'd used outside. Anyhow, slogging through Nchardak was yet another example to tack onto a long list of experiences reinforcing his hatred of Dwarven ruins.

Fighting Dwarven automatons was always a hassle, even though nowadays he carried a sword capable of carving through their armor with relatively minimal effort, primarily so because the damn things didn't feel pain. The usual tactics of crippling, then finishing with devastating force didn't work on these constructs unless he physically reduced the number of parts they had to work with. At present, he and Frea were confronting two Dwarven Spheres of superior intelligence and strength than the ones he was used to demolishing. Armed with the familiar retractable blades in their right arms and bolt launchers in their left, the two automatons were steadily pressing the attack, forcing them back by the step.

Frea was keeping up the pressure on her end with a never-ending cascade of swings, but for the most part, all she was managing to do was dent her axe—well, the metal one anyway. Which, once again, brought up the question of: _what the hell is that ice_?! Setting that aside for the moment, Ketar refocused on parrying another impossibly strong swipe from his robotic enemy and countering with a rising diagonal cut to the gyro system keeping it suspended. The blow managed to gouge a deep gash in the bronze-colored metal, but missed its intended target. Ketar grimaced as he ducked just far enough to miss being skewered point-blank by another bolt, the compact missile instead nicking his right arm.

He felt the warmth of his own blood run down the limb for a moment before his muscles tensed in a bracing motion. Both hands were on his sword, one on the hilt, the other pushing on the flat of the blade as he met a falling strike with the space in the middle. Dwarven metal and dragonbone ground together with a teeth-grinding screech as the unrelenting automaton steadily pushed him back, his boots sliding against the water-slick stones. With a growl of effort and no small amount of frustration, his right hand clenched around the hilt as his left pushed palm-out, channeling magic through the Fury's sapphire as he was pushed closer and closer to a free-fall into the freezing water.

His fingers tingled with the flow of magicka as the sapphire focus glowed brightly enough to hurt the eyes, his left hand erupting in a sustained blast of lightning that temporarily shorted out the Sphere's gyroscope and sent it tumbling over sideways. Ketar's sword swung in a rising crescent motion, knocking the automaton's blade away from its body and allowing him to pin it to the ground with his boot. A rapid flash of motion from its left arm prompted him to deploy a magical ward with his left hand, an instinctive maneuver that deflected an incoming bolt into the ceiling just above him. He retaliated with a vicious two-handed slash that severed the offending appendage, then shifted his sword to an underhanded grip and took careful aim.

"For the record," he snarled spitefully as he brought his sword down into the center of its chest, "Agmaer is a _lot_ better at using those."

With a few labored breaths, Ketar pulled his sword loose with another uncomfortable screech, his left hand reaching down into the gouged hole to pull a medium-sized soul gem loose. He stared at the ruined robot blankly as he pocketed the gem.

"Who's Agmaer?"

Ketar blinked and glanced at Frea, who'd finally managed to dispose of her opponent. "An old friend from back home," he replied, sheathing his blade. "He uses a device similar to those built into these Spheres to launch bolts of Dwarven make—to great effect." He smirked. "Saved my life more than once." His smile faded. "And Sera's."

Frea frowned as he began to move toward one of the pumps, fishing a control cube from a pouch at his belt. "How are you feeling about that? She left rather suddenly."

Ketar tried not to scowl as he chose his words carefully. "It was for a good cause. Her mother needed her help."

The Nord woman arched an eyebrow. "You could at least _try_ to sound convincing."

He blinked and looked off into the distance as he activated the pump, a sigh passing his lips. "True, I don't think that's the _only_ reason she took off in a hurry, but whatever else is on her mind, I know Serana would never have lied to me about something like that."

"Have any theories?"

"Nope." He started moving again, toward the next pump. "I've long given up trying to understand how a woman's mind works. At this point, I have very little to go on, so speculation is utterly pointless."

He could hear the pout in Frea's reply. "A pity she has to make things so difficult for you. Playing hard-to-get an ocean away is one hell of a gamble."

Ketar's fingers twitched briefly before he forced them to relax. "Except I already _got_ her. She's mine, and I'm hers, and she knows that. Whatever else is happening now, I have faith she'll come back when she's ready. I just have to be patient." Another sigh. "And direct my focus elsewhere."

Frea just hummed and watched him work for a while before they set off in search of the final cube.

"I've been meaning to ask," he said suddenly a few minutes later.

"Yes?"

Ketar glanced at her and nodded to the axe on her back. "What is that thing _made_ of? The ice axe, I mean. Most ice would've melted and/or cracked under the circumstances in which you've used it, but not that one. Why is that?"

Frea smiled and unsheathed the weapon, holding it in both hands. "This…is Stalhrim, a byproduct of the burial rituals of ancient Nords, especially here in Solstheim. The Skaal have preserved and protected the secrets of its mining and smithing for generations, as in the wrong hands, it could cause great harm."

He arched an eyebrow. "That stuff's that dangerous?"

"The material itself is hard as ebony, but a great deal lighter. However, this is hardly our main concern. Because of its natural source, Stalhrim, or 'enchanted ice,' in the common tongue, carries an unusual property: the ability to carry and magnify frost magic."

"Huh…so any frost enchantments placed on it—"

"Would be greatly enhanced."

"Thus, making an arsenal with Stalhrim and enchanting it with cold spells would basically give you an army wielding the cold touch of death."

"Essentially…yes."

"Fantastic. Your axe hasn't given off any steam. May I assume you haven't enchanted it thusly?"

"You may. Though my father and other members of the village are talented in magic, their enchanting abilities are somewhat lacking…and I would not trust the likes of Neloth with such a task."

"On _that_ we can agree. Though, if you did want your axe enchanted, I might be able to help."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Ketar nodded as he took a breath and paused for a moment to assess their current circumstances. "Destruction magic is a particular specialty of mine, casting or enchanting."

He coiled up for a moment, then broke into a run that gave him the speed to dive horizontally over a set of spinning blades blocking their way forward. He landed hands-first, that point of contact cushioning his fall and allowing him to roll out on the far side of the trap.

"Stay there!" he shouted to Frea, proceeding toward the last cube.

Ketar's steps went cautiously, the control cube tantalizingly close, but the area even more dangerous because of it. One step after another carried him closer to the pedestal where the cube sat, until he stopped short barely hands-breadth away. The reason was due to something beneath his front foot, his left—a loose stone. The Dwemer were many things. Shoddy craftsmen was not one of them. Either their structures were standing, or they were demolished, but never, _ever_ were they _loose_. To confirm his suspicions, Ketar stretched out his hand to one such demolished chunk of stone and levitated it with a telekinetic spell, then dropped it on the "loose" stone from a few steps away.

A volley of poisoned darts erupted from the walls, crisscrossing the empty space above the pressure plate and imbedding themselves in the far walls. Smirking, Ketar snorted derisively and stepped around the plate to safely remove the cube. He froze for a moment when a deep rumble answered the action, then snapped into motion when he realized what it was: that cube had been operating a pump in a separate section of the city. Removing it was causing the chamber he was currently standing in to flood. He started running before the water could rise too high, leaping once again over the spinning blades and yanking Frea's arm on the way out.

They quickly climbed back up to drier ground, Ketar hefting the final cube in triumph and tucking it into his pouch.

"That's the last one," he said. "We should get back to Neloth. I can't _wait_ to get out of here."

"Likewise," Frea admitted. "Though spending time with a friend is always welcome, doing so in a place like this is…"

"Sucky," Ketar finished.

"Aye, quite sucky."

He snorted in amusement and waved her toward the exit. "Come on. Let's snag the other cubes and go."

…

Serana made a show of browsing the wares of the "pawn shop" Valerica had brought her to in search of leads. Truth be told, she was bored out of her skull. The proprietor, Sayma, was a middle-aged Redguard woman with a motor mouth and _way_ too much cheer. She was constantly trying to sell them something, and it was getting on her nerves to the point where Serana was about to reach across the counter and grab her by the collar just to get her to _shut up_. Her mother, by contrast, was handling all of it in stride, even laughing along with her as she recounted the hijinks of her son.

Sera's fingers spasmed in a strangling motion for a moment before she made a split-second decision and turned for the exit. "I'll be outside if you need me, Mother."

Valerica glanced back and nodded to her.

The younger vampire left the shop and leaned against its outer wall, sighing hard with her arms crossed. Her eyes roved the stars and moons, Secunda blazing with silvery light, Masser with red. Both were in full wax on this night. As a result, their glow cast a faint light on the streets of Solitude, illuminating the scant citizens and guards still mulling about their business. It was just after sundown, a little before closing time for most of the shops in the area, and the streets were predominantly cloaked in shadow. As such, nobody except Serana saw a hooded man sneak up behind a mother escorting her child toward the residential area of the city, or the way his left hand surreptitiously dipped into the pocket of her dress to pull a pouch free.

Serana blinked as he pocketed the coinpurse, glancing through the window of Bits and Pieces to see her mother still engaged with the owner. Frowning, she pushed herself off the wall and made her way toward the pickpocket, who was also walking toward the residential district to keep from arousing suspicion. The vampire tailed him through the crowd, sticking to the darkest areas to keep her movements cloaked and gaining on him by the second. It wasn't until they'd reached the first row of houses that she managed to get within arm's reach of him, and when she did, he turned sharply into a dark alleyway.

Rolling her eyes at being made, Serana followed him in and scanned the shadows for any signs of his hooded form. She slowed her pace a few steps in, her fingers slowly wrapping around the hilt of her dagger when she saw no one was there, despite the far side being a dead end. Eight feet into the alley, she came to an abrupt stop, sniffing the air and twitching at the sound of boots crunching on the dirt behind her. Her body whirled around just in time to see a large bottle of something sail toward her feet, the glass shattering and releasing a cloud of pale greenish gas with all-too-familiar scent.

A fit of sharp coughs came from her throat as her lungs spasmed for air, knees buckling partway and forcing her to lean on a nearby wall for support. Once she could breathe semi-stably, she looked up to see the silhouettes of six men walking into the alley, the one at the front the same hooded pickpocket.

Serana wheezed a few more breaths before finding the strength to speak. "Dirge..."

The hooded man chuckled. "Wow. Got it in one go. I'm impressed. Somewhat less impressed that you fell for this, but hey—" he drew a steel axe from his belt, "—I'm not gonna complain."

She took a breath to reply only to have it cut off by another coughing fit.

"You like that?" he taunted. "Garlic vapor, compressed and contained in a breakable potion. Learned it from an old bandit buddy who used to be a conjurer. _He_ intended it for poison, and so did I…" he dragged the edge of his axe on the stone wall as he strode toward her, "but we both know no ordinary poison will do the trick here… _vampire_."

Serana snarled and coughed once more. "You did your research. Color me impressed as well."

Dirge smiled as he continued toward her, axe held high. "I'd say this isn't personal, but I think we both know that's a lie."

"Vengeance for your family is something I can understand." A long, ragged breath was inhaled as she pushed off the wall and regained her footing. "There's just one small problem."

"Oh?"

She smirked malevolently as she backed up, luring them further into the alley and getting some breathing room. "I'm no ordinary vampire."

Dirge hesitated.

"See…I'm a pureblood, and _much_ more powerful than the fiends you're used to hearing about. So," she chuckled darkly, "in other words…" her face split into a grin that was all teeth and fangs as she drew her Elven stiletto, "you didn't use _nearly_ enough."

At that, the rest of Dirge's men drew their weapons, a decent assortment that were by and large short. Serana nearly grimaced at that. Though she'd been telling the truth about the concentration of his poison, the garlic was slowing her down quite a bit, and she still wanted to hack her lungs out. Given that the alleyway was little more than a full arm span wide and not very deep, it was going to be _very_ difficult to maneuver around their attacks. And with her head spinning the way it was, she doubted she had the coordination to use the walls and vertical movement to get past them. Her only shot was to disable them one after the next, in rapid succession.

And she couldn't afford to miss.

Serana took and released a long, slow breath, dagger held point-out and clutched to her chest. The brigands stepped forward, shoulder-to-shoulder behind their leader, who was a mere six feet away. The vampire coiled up in preparation to thrust.

She never got the chance.

A sharp rustle from above snapped her attention away from Dirge, tension filling her body as she lunged back and away from a falling form cloaked in shadow. She needn't have bothered. Like a sabre cat pouncing on an elk, the shadow fell into the alley in a sharp but graceful arc, the whoosh of air grabbing Dirge's attention early enough for him to turn around. In the split-second he landed, the new arrival dropped the thief with an elbow drop as he landed in a deep crouch between Dirge and his men, the other brigands too shocked to move for just a moment. He took advantage of that.

From his crouched position, he spun clockwise in a trip-kick that laid out the left-most assassin and lunged forward and up in the same motion to knife-hand the right-most one in the throat. As the second assassin stumbled into the wall, clutching his larynx, Serana's unknown ally lunged toward the one in the middle, growling as he caught the man's armed wrist with one hand, the other pressed against his chest and used as a point of leverage to run him back into the rest. Two went tumbling to the ground, the two still standing moving forward and swinging for his head from opposite sides. He crouched and turned his body sideways to allow them to pass him, elbowing one in the gut with his right arm, then using his left to drive a rising backfist into the other's chin.

Serana heard teeth click as the shadow coiled up, a back-kick solidly impacting one of the rising assassins in the shin and sending him tumbling face-first into the dirt. The faint moonlight glinted off lithe, silvery blue armor as its owner spun midair like a tornado, one leg kicking out to catch the other tackled assassin across the jaw. The one he'd tripped rose with a dagger at the ready, thrusting toward him several times and finding his wrist deflected until an overextension left him vulnerable to a double-handed downward slap and following one-two combo to the face.

The lightning-fast punches sent spittle flying from the brigand's mouth as he stumbled backward, leaving himself open to a left hook that sent a pronounced _snap_ ringing through the air. He hit the dirt a moment later. Another assassin tackled his legs from behind, the armored man quickly pivoting and facing his assailant with his knees bent and legs planted behind his center of gravity as they slid between Serana and Dirge. Both gauntleted arms curled around the brigand's midsection, a growl coming from the shadow's throat as his back arched and he bodily flipped the man over his shoulder to plant face-first into the dirt. The last two proceeded cautiously but aggressively, their shortswords held low until they got within striking distance.

He faced off against them with his fists held high, not noticing that the one he'd thrown behind him regained his footing. Serana moved to stop him, but the shadow ducked away from the assassin's axe, the metal head just missing his neck in a falling diagonal cut as he grabbed the attacker's collar and threw him toward the others. The leftmost assassin caught his comrade while the other moved forward with an overhead strike just barely avoided by a backward lunge. A forward snap-kick was planted in his gut, the other two brigands surging forward with a flurry of strikes that were avoided with practiced ease.

Sera's jaw slowly dropped as he took them apart with his bare hands, alternating strikes to all three of his assailants until two of them managed to pin his arms to the wall while the third prepared to bury his axe in his chest. The shadow kicked out, catching him in the groin, then using the same leg to dislocate the knee of the one holding his right arm. Now freed, his fist slammed the last assassin in the temple, followed quickly by a left elbow to the nose, a hooking knee to his lower ribs, and a shin-kick with the same leg that swept his feet out from under him. The brigand was on the ground, eyes wide in terror as the armored man growled and reached for his legs, grabbing him by the ankles.

With a single, massive snap of his body and arms, the armored shadow threw the assassin in a swinging motion, his body slamming back-first, upside-down in the side of a house so hard it left a crater in the wooden planks—that kept him there. Straightening up—and not even appearing winded—Serana's savior faced the now-rising Dirge with his fists clenched. She made her way forward as Dirge stood fully, glancing at her ally's profile as he snarled and growled a single word.

"Flee."

Serana shivered at the sound, so savagely uttered it might well have been growled by a rabid wolf. Which, as she took a closer look at her savior's visible features and armor, suddenly made perfect sense.

Whatever Serana's reaction, Dirge's was multiplied tenfold. He went white as a sheet, gulping hard and just managing to look Serana in the eye. "This isn't over," he promised shakily before turning tail and running out into the street.

In the silence that followed, the only sounds were the groans and ragged footfalls of Dirge's men scrambling from the alley, terror in their eyes and body language. Then, finally, she was alone with her rescuer, her eyes catching a faint glimmer of green from his as he turned to face her. They faded to their normal near-black brown as soon as he met her gaze.

Serana stared at him blankly for a moment. "Bard."

His head bowed. "Lady Serana."

She glanced at the brigand still planted in the house wall with an arched eyebrow. "Not that…I don't appreciate the rescue, but I had that handled."

Bard smiled and tipped his head slightly. "I know."

Serana gave him a long, searching look. "What are you even _doing_ here?"

Bard sighed and turned toward the mouth of the alley. "That's a bit of a long story." He paused at the bandit stuck in the wall to slap him unconscious when he started to groan awake. "Short version is: Lord Zhanikan protects his investments _very_ well." He looked back at her with a smile. "And his friends even better." He gave her a nod. "Suffice to say, he's taken a liking to you and Ketar."

Unconvinced, Sera crossed her arms and frowned. "And the long version?"

Bard chuckled. "I have a mission of my own here, and your tussle happened to catch my eye."

Serana opened her mouth to say more, but stopped short when another figure entered the mouth of the alley, this one quite familiar. Bard turned to face the new arrival as well, his smile turning guarded when she fixed him with a hard look.

"Greetings, wolf," said Valerica in a dangerously even tone. "Beautiful moons out tonight."

Bard just smirked and nodded. "Yes…yes they are."

And then there were three.

* * *

AN: So…I'm sorry probably doesn't cut it. Another two-week delay between chapters, and with the way the last one ended…ugh, I'm so sorry guys. School has been absolute murder, and with all the travel I've had to do lately, I just haven't had the time or strength to work on this much. Thankfully, I managed to bang out the last of it tonight, so I've got some more for ya.

So, a couple things to say about this chapter. First: I share Ketar's opinion of Dwemer ruins. They are large, convoluted deathtraps of engineering and that, among other things, is why I'm glad their creators went extinct. Second: HATE Neloth, for the reasons Ketar gave. 'Nuff said. Last but not least: Bard.

Bard Gorshun is one of the very first characters I created…ever. Having him give a small cameo early on was nice, but as I took a look at the outline for this story, I found that there were some gaps in the action that felt kinda…empty, or just unsubstantial. So, to spice things up, I came up with a quest that will allow you to get to see exactly the kind of person, on the battlefield and off, that serves as Lord Zhanikan's Royal Protector. And also give Serana some time to sort out her issues.

As far as that goes, I'm not giving anything away, but suffice to say that will be one of the main focuses of this story arc, which may or may not be told from three different angles: Serana, Ketar, and Agmaer. I'm still undecided. I guess I'll figure it out once I actually start writing the rest of it.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this last entry and are still hanging with me. I'm planning on writing more on the trip I have to do this weekend, but depending on whether the flight has outlet power or not, I might have to postpone my writing until I get there.

At any rate, I hope you're all doing well and will continue to follow this story.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Inception – Mombasa: fighting the Reavers/fatal beatdown/"don't remember asking your opinion"

Daredevil: Season 2 – Ninjas!: 1:08-1:36—"just one small problem"/Sera backed into a corner, 1:36-2:48—elbow drop/alley fight, 2:48-3:03—"Flee"/"This isn't over"


	9. Journeys in the Darkness

The atmosphere in the alley was thick with tension, though much of that was relieved by Bard's next actions. Specifically, grinning at Serana's mother.

"Three purebloods standing in an alley…I feel a joke coming on. We didn't get the chance to be properly acquainted in Jorrvaskr," he said, extending his hand to Valerica. "Bard Gorshun."

The elder vampire blinked and glanced at Serana, who gave her a nod. Her eyes returned to Bard's earnest features as she took his hand. "Valerica. I'm Serana's mother."

Bard smiled wider. "I _figured_ you were related. The resemblance is uncanny."

Serana saw him hold back a wince as her mother squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary.

"Would you mind telling me why a pureblooded werewolf from another _continent_ stepped in to help my daughter?"

"I was wondering that myself," Serana asked. "What mission were you assigned that brought you to Solitude?"

Bard frowned and glanced between them before sighing hard. "We've been tracking a powerful Dunmer necromancer named Ildari Sarothril. She took something from one of our caravans a few weeks ago, and we want it back."

"Sarothril?" asked Valerica. "Are you sure?"

Bard's gaze snapped to her. "Yes, why?"

The vampire's lips pursed tightly. "Because Sayma just told me about a Sarothril who came into her shop with a very peculiar query."

"Meaning?" Sera asked.

"She wanted a particularly rare specimen of mineral with only one practical use: the casting and maintenance of a powerful summoning spell."

"The item I'm after is likely a necessary component in such a ritual," said Bard. "Did the shopkeep give her the item?"

"No. It was out of stock, but she did leave a location for it to be sent to when the next shipment arrived."

"Then if you'd kindly give it to me, I'll be on my way."

Valerica's eyes narrowed. "Not so fast, wolf." She glanced at Serana. "Turns out we're heading there as well."

"What?" asked Serana.

She nodded. "I asked Sayma if there was anything unusual about Sarothril besides her taste in minerals, and she pointed out a peculiar mace sitting on her hip."

Sera's eyes rolled. "Oh, lovely."

"I still don't see how me knowing the location is a problem," said Bard.

Valerica's lips pursed. "For all your claims of altruism, I don't know we can trust you."

"Why? Because I'm a werewolf and you're vampires?"

"Because you're a stranger."

Serana stepped forward at this point. "Mother, I don't think we have anything to worry about from him."

Her eyes narrowed. "Based on what?"

She shrugged. "Call it a hunch. And the fact that I was poisoned with garlic and he stepped in to help." She cast Bard a smirk. "Despite the fact that I could've powered through it."

Valerica alternated her gaze from Bard to her daughter and back, sighing after a while. "Fine. You can tag along for now. Just remember that the last man who crossed my daughter had his heart torn out—with her bare hands."

Bard chuckled and strode from the alley into the street's torchlight. "I'll…keep that in mind."

Serana's eyebrows hiked upward as the increased light allowed her to see his full form in detail: encased from head to toe in the same silvery blue suit he'd worn in Jorrvaskr, whose form mimicked a combination of lamellar and plate armor. There were various segmented plates laced together across the arms, torso, and legs, but his bracers, boots, and pauldrons were solid metal; as well as a two-piece plate across his upper chest, separated down the middle. It reminded her a little of the armor Niel and Katja wore in Ketar's picture, but without looking nearly so heavy. Still, with the strength he'd displayed just a few minutes earlier, the actual weight was impossible to tell.

He could've been decked out in full ebony plate armor, and it would barely slow him down.

A longsword made of some dark silvery metal hung across his back. In addition, he had a straight dagger with a small crossguard and curved tip strapped to his right thigh, and what appeared to be a golden baton on the back of his belt. His left bracer bore a strange metal contraption on its underside, of Dwemer make, if she had to guess; and both his hands were encased in fingerless gloves made of the same black mesh material that comprised his undergarment. In summary, Bard Gorshun was encased from the neck down in armor and arms that spoke of superior craftsmanship of the royal variety.

 _Quite appropriate for a "Lord Protector,"_ thought Serana as she and her mother followed him into the street.

Bard turned to them after a few moments, giving them a friendly smile and a wave toward the path. "Well? Ladies first."

Valerica shot him a look and strode past to lead the way. Serana just arched an eyebrow and slowly shook her head. It was going to be a long night…and not just for her.

…

Ketar found Neloth right where he'd left him—next to the control pedestals for four boilers and poring over a collection of Dwemer gyros and tomes.

"Neloth," called the Dragonborn. "I have the cubes."

The Dunmer snorted and closed the book. "Took you long enough."

Ketar's upper lip twitched. "Oh, I'm sorry we took the time to be cautious around this millennia-old deathtrap of a structure. This, of course, ignoring that you were up here and as a result no help at _all_."

"Sass is not helping your case at all."

" _Whatever_. Just put the damn cubes in and let's go. I'm _sick_ of this place."

He tossed Neloth a pair of said cubes, taking out the others and moving to the control pedestals. As soon as the gear-strewn cubes were fully seated in their appropriate slots, the boilers choked and started up, pounding away at a deafening volume. They were so loud Ketar almost didn't hear the telltale clanks of a _much_ larger automaton starting up far off to the side. His eyes snapped to a falling bridge in that direction. On its other side was a massive and hateful sight that immediately sent Ketar scrambling to draw Zephyr. Three ebony arrows were planted in the armored head of a Dwarven Centurion as it began taking long, lumbering steps across the bridge.

Neloth and Frea readied themselves on either side of him, the former firing a number of electrical spells while Frea drew her axes and moved around to flank the robot. Ketar drew a fragmentation arrow from his quiver and loosed it into the thing's left hip, the ebony shards jamming part of the gears comprising the joint, but only for a moment before its vastly superior torque sheared the shards and allowed it to resume its normal range of motion. Ketar cursed under his breath, collapsing Zephyr and making for the bridge the Centurion had already crossed half of.

Ketar glanced Frea's way mid-sprint, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Go for the legs!"

"Go for _what_?"

With a deep inhale, Ketar channeled the power within and released it in a viciously-toned Shout. " _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

He heard Frea's gasp of shock as his body was engulfed from head to toe in flaming, ethereal dragon armor, the hum of pure power coursing through his veins as his body launched itself forward even faster. It was like he'd been given wings, the way he flew across the stones and metal of the platform, reaching the bridge in record time. The Centurion looked at him with unblinking metal eyes, its left arm and the axe attached there extending to slash horizontally through his path. Ketar dropped to his knees and leaned back, sliding forward across his shins as the axe-blade passed over his face.

As he slid to a stop, Ketar lunged right in a short roll to avoid a falling hammer blow from its other arm, leaping atop the appendage and climbing it to jump for the Centurion's neck. Both arms looped around its thick neck, boots bracing against a set of plates on its metal spine and back flexing with effort as he pulled it backward head-first. To his mild surprise, the machine actually gave, stumbling back two steps, its balance briefly compromised. The automaton reached back with both arms, its weapons trying to dislodge him, but he just kept pulling, and the more he pulled, the more it stumbled, uncoordinated.

"A little help!" he shouted at the others, seeing Frea charging toward the Centurion's legs.

The Nord woman bellowed a battle cry as she sprinted toward its left leg, leaping mid-step into a spinning double strike that perforated a hydraulic fluid line just below its knee. The appendage collapsed partway, the Animunculus shifting its attention to Frea and swiping for her face with its axe. She dove away from its strike, the sharp axe-tip slicing shallowly through her back as she hit the ground. Growling, Ketar, drew the Blade of Woe and stabbed it into a hydraulic line on its neck, savagely raking it back and forth and causing the neck to spasm about. The motion jarred his body, but he kept going, aiming for more critical systems and causing it to constantly reorient its priorities with a never-ending stream of damage.

Finally, it managed to narrow down its damages and brought both arms flat against its back, effectively crushing Ketar to its spine and forcing all the air from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he held on with everything he had, the Centurion dangerously close to the bridge's edge and tipped backward just enough that if he fell, it was a thirty-foot drop straight into the ice-cold water. The automaton's arms pressed closer to its back, flattening him more and more and causing his bones to creak and protest under the strain.

Suddenly, a vicious cry from below caught his attention as Frea slashed her Stalhrim axe through another hydraulic line of the Centurion's damaged leg, forcing it to fully collapse before digging the hooked end of her Nordic axe into its ankle and yanking hard. The motion dug the dark steel deeper into the warped Dwarven metal, effectively forming an anchor in the appendage.

Frea, to Ketar's surprise, released the hilt of the weapon and whirled toward their Dunmer ally. "Neloth, the axe!"

Ketar's brows furrowed in confusion until Neloth leapt from cover and channeled an electrical spell in both hands. Then his eyes went double-wide and he drew his knees as far up as they would go, feet braced against the base of the Centurion's neck. The moment Neloth cast his spell, the robot's grip on Ketar failed, its crippled leg yanked toward the wizard so hard it tipped backward, completely off-balance. Kay launched himself upward, onto the now-horizontal automaton's chest as he used what little breath he had to run up its falling body.

It took him the time he needed to get clear of the tumbling wreck to realize exactly what had happened: Frea used the metal hilt of her axe to serve as an anchor for one of Neloth's electrostatic attraction spells. With all the spell's power concentrated on a single point, instead of the entire leg, the force was multiplied exponentially, effectively catapulting the axe backward through the metal with the speed of an arrow. Thus, how an entire Dwarven Centurion was sent tumbling back-first into ice-cold water, its critical systems exposed by damage already done. Just as it began to fall off the bridge, Ketar leapt from its right shin, arm outstretched and grasping for a hold.

He found it when Frea's gauntlet snatched his hand from the air, her Stalhrim axe dug into the bridge as an anchor as she pulled him to safety. Ketar breathed heavily, leaning his hands on his knees as Frea held his back to steady him.

"I may have underestimated you, girl."

Both snapped their attention to the approaching Neloth.

"That was quite the effective plan." The Dunmer turned his attention to Ketar with a frown. "Though I have to wonder what made you think tackling a Dwemer Centurion was a good idea."

Ketar's eyes rolled as he straightened up. "Up yours, Neloth. I trusted you'd know what to do once I had it pinned."

"You sure?" asked Frea. "Because it looked to me like _it_ had _you_ pinned."

He threw her a deadpan glare. "Seriously? You're agreeing with him?"

Frea frowned. "It's not _about_ him, Kay."

Ketar's upper lip twitched, tone covered in a thick layer of ice. "Don't call me that." He started walking away, back toward the reading room and the exit. "You haven't earned the _right_."

He heard Frea's sigh as they made their way back to the Black Book unopposed, reaching the reading room a few minutes later.

Neloth's lips pursed. "Well…moment of truth."

He pushed a blue glowing button on a pedestal at one end of the room, the action causing three beams of light to erupt from the floor and strike a large crystal suspended near the ceiling. The crystal glowed brighter and brighter the longer the light beams remained focused on it, causing a series of rumbles to carry through the room as its walls and floor reoriented themselves. The sealed compartment's glass plate slid aside, and the pedestal containing the Black Book slowly rose to their level, Ketar approaching the artifact with caution.

"At last," said Neloth, turning to Ketar. "I hope it was worth it."

Ketar's lips pursed. "Me too."

"Please...be my guest. You deserve the first look." He shrugged. "Besides, it could be very dangerous. These books are known to drive many people insane."

Ketar bit his lower lip and reached out to take the book from its mountings, lifting it from the pedestal and blowing a thick sheet of dust off its cover. The same monstrous sigil adorned its cover, giving it an outward appearance identical to that of _Waking Dreams_ , though he knew the contents would be vastly different. A slow gulp passed through his throat as his fingers hooked over one end of the front cover, starting to open it when he stopped suddenly and frowned. A sigh passed through his throat as he opened his rift and threw the book inside.

At the others' confused looks, he said, "Not here. The Dwemer might have felt secure in this reading room, but I don't."

"I suppose that's only fair," Neloth replied. "Tel Mithryn has just the place you need."

Ketar frowned deeper and glanced at Frea, who looked just as uneasy. Still, he gave Neloth a nod. "All right then. Let's go."

It spoke to just how experienced he was with this sort of thing that the _instant_ he stepped outside, he felt the air currents shift dangerously and immediately put one eye on the sky. Ketar's teeth gritted when he picked out a dark gray form against the sky, a familiar roar following a moment later.

 _Out of the frying pan…_

And after his Dragon Aspect ran out, too. His physical weakness wasn't as sharp as it could've been, but that didn't discount the fact that he was a step sluggish, which, against a dragon, increased his chances of being maimed by several orders of magnitude.

As soon as the dragon was within earshot, it bellowed out, "Miraak has commanded your death. So it shall be."

Ketar snarled and drew Dragonborn's Fury. "I'm getting _really_ tired of hearing about that bastard!"

Frea stood at his side, axes at the ready. "What do we do?"

He frowned, jaw tightening. "We're trapped on this island. We try to get off, we're sitting ducks. Or worse, icicles."

"From what I see," said Neloth, "we're _already_ sitting ducks. Not that that's a problem."

"Not for you, maybe," Frea replied. "You can sit there and cast spells all day. I, on the other hand—"

"Hit the deck!" Ketar shouted as the dragon came in for a dive, its Voice coursing through the air.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

The dragon's breath erupted not in a stream, but a coherent ball of fire that exploded against the deck of the Dwemer island, sending chunks of scorched rock and metal flying in all directions. The lizard passed overhead, Ketar pushing himself upright as the others did the same.

The Dragonborn bared his teeth and projected his Voice outward. " _Wo kos hi, dovah_?!"

The dragon roared in reply as he curved back toward them, replying, " _Zu'u_ Krosulhah, _aar do_ Miraak _ahrk hin al_!"

Ketar smirked malevolently. " _Lotdovahhe lost togaat_."

He drew Zephyr from his belt and slowly drew back a black arrow, aiming for the dragon's chest and releasing a slow breath as he got within range. He shifted his aim slightly and released the ebony missile at just the right moment, the arrow streaking toward the base of Krosulhah's wing instead and throwing his flight pattern off.

"Neloth, target his wings! Ground him!"

Nodding, the Dunmer readied his spells and unleashed a torrent of lightning that fell just short of striking the dragon when Krosulhah managed to turn a sideways tumble into a sharp turn that brought him out of their range.

"Ugh! I feel so _useless_!" Frea shouted.

"Welcome to every other person's response to seeing a dragon," Ketar replied, readying another arrow. "We've got it distracted, Frea. If you want to make a break for it—"

"Ha! As if!"

She scrambled for one of the fallen Reavers' bows and began firing arrows in tandem with Ketar. He just shrugged and kept up the heat, the dragon shrugging off their efforts with apparent ease. Ketar frowned, pausing in his volleys for a moment to take stock of the situation once more: trapped on an artificial island surrounded by freezing, hypothermia-inducing water over eight-hundred feet offshore. His eyes widened when the "freezing" part resonated in his head. A flash of memory from two months earlier pulsed through his head, of Durnehviir freezing the wings of a hostile dragon to ground it.

"Guys! I have an idea! Neloth, I'm going to bring that dragon down into the water and freeze it in place. While it's pinned, I want you to prepare the strongest lightning spell you can muster, and I'll do the same. The moment the ice breaks…" he snarled, "fry the bastard!"

Neloth smirked. "One overwhelming force against another…I like it."

Frea looked unconvinced. "How do you intend to ground it?"

Ketar smiled malevolently. "The same way I grounded Alduin." The moment the dragon arced back around in range, he took a deep breath and unleashed the power of his Voice. " _Joor-Zah-Frul_!"

The resulting arc of energy tore through the dragon, whose demeanor quickly shifted from murderous to panicked. " _Bein rotmulaag_! What foul words are these?!"

Ketar collapsed Zephyr and strode toward the edge of the island as the dragon plummeted toward the water. "The words of an enslaved people who rose up against their oppressors…fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Krosulhah managed to hook one of his talons around the dome of a nearby island, trying desperately to keep himself from falling into the water. "No _dovah_ would stoop to such vile _tahrovin_."

"Funny; I could say the same about your servitude to Miraak. _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

A wave of concussive energy slammed into Krosulhah's weakened body, breaking his grip on the building and sending him falling back-first into the water. Taking one more deep breath, he channeled what power remained and unleashed one final Shout.

" _Iiz-Slen-Nus_!"

An arc of pure cold lanced toward the dragon, morphing and shifting around it as it impacted. Massive icicles and permafrost rapidly encased Krosulhah's submerged form, as well as the water immediately around him. Ketar and Neloth exchanged a nod, the latter drawing magical runes on the ground around him and channeling power into himself through them. Ketar took a deep breath, using the sapphire in his ring as a focus as he moved his hands in wide arcs and slowly brought them together, electricity sparking between them more and more rapidly. The ice imprisoning Krosulhah began to crack and fray, shards of it falling into the water at an increasing rate.

Gritting his teeth, Ketar emptied the last of his magicka into his spell, his hands barely staying near each other from all the electric microrepulsions jumping between them. A brief sideways glance was enough to confirm that Neloth too was ready. The _instant_ Krosulhah broke through the ice, they unleashed their magic in tandem, two impossibly powerful storms of lightning smiting the wyrm on either side. The combination of such powerful electricity and increased conductivity due to being immersed in saltwater effectively fried Krosulhah from the inside out, the dragon bellowing in agony as smoke billowed from his massive winged form.

The spell volley lasted about five full seconds before the mages stopped casting, leaving only a charred mess of scales and bone that sagged into the depths of the ocean with a cascade of waves and ripples. The familiar flare of light and energy of a decomposing dragon erupted from the fallen wyrm, arcing toward him across the gap but halting just off the edge of the platform. Between Ketar and the soul, the ethereal form of Miraak materialized once more, the two Dragonborn facing off.

" _We_ must _stop running into each other like this,_ " said Miraak mockingly.

Ketar smiled nastily. "Come and find me in person; we'll definitely meet differently."

" _Oh, I'm counting on it._ " He reached one arm toward the roiling ball of energy sitting some distance behind him. " _One step closer to my return…_ "

Ketar snarled and took a deep breath and unleashed his Voice in a power he'd never thought to use. " _Rii-Vaaz-Zol_!"

When a powerful arc of violet energy swept past Miraak's ethereal form and impacted Krosulhah's soul, Ketar could've sworn he saw Miraak wince. From what Durnehviir had told him about Soul Tear, the Shout would appropriate the soul of its victim for the use of its caster. And without a gem large enough to hold something as powerful as a dragon soul, _Ketar_ became its receptacle. Miraak slowly turned toward Ketar as Krosulhah's energy flowed into the younger Dragonborn, fists clenched at his sides. Once the remaining dregs of the dragon soul had been absorbed by Ketar, he met Miraak's masked gaze and let his lips spread apart in a malevolent grin.

"I'm sorry," he mocked, "you were saying?"

Miraak's replying tone was quietly threatening. " _It appears I've underestimated you_."

"I noticed. Keep doing that, by the way. This'll be over faster."

He snorted derisively. " _Don't get too arrogant, little_ Dovahkiin _. One stolen soul does not a victory make_."

"No, but it's a start. And if I can overpower you in this…" his smile was all teeth, "then you're not quite as untouchable as you make yourself out to be."

Another snort. " _We shall see_."

"Sure. Now, if you don't mind— _piss off_."

Miraak's form vanished a few moments later, leaving Ketar alone with his companions. A long breath of relief left his lungs as he turned to the others. "Can we get outta here now?"

…

"So…I've been wondering…"

Agmaer looked over at Brelyna with questioning eyebrows. "Yes?"

"How exactly does your crossbow work? I've never seen anything like it."

Heart pounding, he cleared his throat and drew his crossbow, the arms extending from the body with a snap when he hit a switch near the trigger. "It's a Dwemer design, intended for use by front-line troops at close range. See, there are three barrels in the body of the weapon, with three separate drawstrings, and each holds a bolt." His left arm, placed on the body of the crossbow, thumbed a lever on the left side of the weapon and opened a long, thin hatch on the right side of the barrel. "This port here allows for rapid loading of all three bolts, and when that's done, the crank at the top—" he pointed accordingly, "—draws everything back into readiness.

"Each trigger pull releases one of the strings, and it fires as fast as you squeeze. So, with time, practice, and plenty of ammunition; you can unload as many as sixty bolts in the space of a minute."

Brelyna's eyebrows hiked upward. "Wow…and _can_ you?"

Agmaer felt heat crawling up his features as he flicked the switch to collapse the crossbow's arms. "Well…I don't like to boast, but…" he stowed the weapon on his back, "I'm the only one who owns one of these, so…it's the only way I'd know."

She huffed and smiled. "Impressive."

With her attention turned toward the tomb they were entering, Agmaer could fist-pump unnoticed while trying to maintain his composure. Once he'd succeeded in calming himself, he sidled up next to the Dark Elf girl and frowned at the ruined structure. "Any idea what kind of resistance we'll be facing in there?"

Brelyna frowned and shook her head. "Shouldn't be much, if anything. Like I said, Ketar cleared it out a long time ago, and when it comes to the undead, he tends to be very…thorough."

Agmaer nodded slowly as they entered the tomb, proceeding through one hall after the next and finding one skeleton after another strewn across the halls.

She waved at the rotted corpses. "Case in point."

He nodded and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, he is…quite something."

She frowned and cast him a sideways glance. "Are you two okay?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

Her lips pursed. "I mean…I know you're friends, and you have been for a while, but…it just seems like you're constantly standing in his shadow. Or that you think you are."

He forced a laugh. "What? Nooo…"

Brelyna arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

Agmaer sighed hard. "It's complicated. I mean…how could _anyone_ be around him and _not_ feel small? It's like standing next to _Tiber Septim_ , for Talos' sake." His hands tightened into fists. "He's hands-down one of the most intimidating people I've ever met, and he doesn't even _mean_ to be."

"Well you're right about that. He _doesn't_ , especially not to his friends." She released a self-deprecating laugh. "Trust me, I went through the same thing when he arrived at the College. He was just so…naturally talented. And me, the Elf, the one who's supposed to be an expert in such matters—I couldn't cast a spell without turning him into a _cow_."

 _That_ got his attention.

Brelyna's red eyes went double-wide as her gray skin deepened in color. "Um…did I say that out loud?"

Agmaer arched an eyebrow. "A _cow_?"

She cleared her throat sharply. "It's a…long story. Suffice to say, I was…trying to surpass him, in my own way, and it backfired." Another laugh. "It's funny…my whole life, I've been trying to escape the expectations of my race, but there…I didn't need anyone else breathing down my neck. I imposed those expectations on _myself_."

"Well…I can't really say I've experienced that per se, but…I think I understand what you mean. After we defeated the Volkihar Clan, Ketar told me that I could be the greatest of the Dawnguard, and though I denied it at first, afterward I did everything in my power to prove him right. Even if he wasn't there to push me on, I wanted his approval, more than almost anything else." He waved to her. "I guess in your case, when people have told you who you're supposed to be for so long, it kinda sinks in after a while…even if you don't want it to."

Brelyna nodded slowly. "We do tend to pattern ourselves off the standards of the people around us. It's a _very_ difficult habit to unlearn, but when you do…it's the most _freeing_ feeling in the world." She looked up at him earnestly. "It doesn't matter what others say—your friends, your mentors, even your family. None of them define who you are; _you_ do."

Agmaer stared at her for a few seconds, feeling heat creep up his features, before he smiled and bowed his head slightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

…

"Well this is…"

"Creepy," Bard finished for Serana.

"Yeah."

"We _are_ dealing with a necromancer." He held his hands up toward the vampires. "No offense."

"None taken," Valerica replied. "A little 'creep' can go a long way in some situations."

"Like intimidating those thugs into being thrown off their game," Bard said with a nod to Serana.

"Not like I needed to," she said.

He shrugged. "If it's any consolation, it looked like it was working."

Sera smirked and gave the incredibly, unsettlingly ruined castle in front of them a long once-over before following her mother inside.

"If Sarothril is powerful enough to steal from you," said Valerica, "I'd wager she has some considerable defenses in this place. Keep your eyes peeled."

Bard nodded, his nearly black eyes all but invisible in the faint light of the moon.

Serana eyed him carefully, eyebrows furrowed. "What's the deal with your eyes?"

He blinked and glanced at her. "I'm sorry?"

She nodded to him. "Your eyes. Back in that alley, I could've sworn they were glowing…and _green_ , for that matter."

He smirked as he scanned their surroundings. "That happens sometimes when I'm in this form. Maybe you'll get to see it again soon."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "In 'this' form? Meaning what? You can tap into your wolf blood as a human?"

"To an extent, yes. My abilities aren't as refined or powerful as when I'm fully transformed, but I still get a great deal of the benefits." Bard nodded at her. "Much like you and your vampire lord form."

"So…the differences between you and ordinary werewolves—"

"Are as much as those between you and the mongrel fiends predominant among vampires."

Serana nodded slowly, returning her attention to their environment and following her mother through a half-rotted wooden door. Valerica pushed through first, Sera right behind her, with Bard taking up the rear. They were three rooms in and all was quiet, which was setting off Serana's alarm bells something fierce.

"So…where are those defenses you mentioned?"

Valerica frowned and glanced back at her daughter. "I'm not sure. Stay on your guard."

The deeper they proceeded into the ruined fortress, the more unsettled Serana became, until she was fingering the dagger at her belt as a nervous tick. It wasn't until they pushed open a set of double-doors on the second floor of the tower that she finally found some reason for that feeling. Beyond the doors was a large, open room comprising the entire diameter of the tower, with various toppled bookcases and tomes scattered about, as well as a plentiful amount of old furniture. It screamed of abandonment, like someone had ducked out in a hurry, and the room was permeated with the stench of death.

 _Screw it._

Serana slowly drew her dagger, the Elven metal sliding from its sheath with a metallic grind as she scanned the room for threats, making it halfway to the middle before a faint hissing sound from one side caught her attention. Her eyes widened a split-second before she dove behind a fallen bookshelf as a fireball lanced through her last position. Snapping upright, her eyes narrowed at the sight of the attack's source: a large soul gem mounted on a pedestal and tucked into a small alcove in one edge of the room, obviously to keep it hidden from sight. Several more hissing sounds were heard around the room, Sera's hackles rising further when she spotted four more pedestals, all of them glowing with magical light.

She leapt from her cover a moment later, three more fireballs bombarding that position and forcing her to keep moving. Valerica and Bard were also mobilizing, the former dashing from cover to cover as she closed the distance to one of the pedestals. From the far side of the room, another door slammed open, a strange-looking humanoid creature on the other side. The holes where its eyes should've been glowed red, and in its right hand it bore a crude weapon made of some sort of obsidian that glowed the same way. Its body radiated and rippled with excess heat, and its skin bore a rough, worn complexion that, like its weapon, elicited thoughts of volcanic rock.

One thing was for sure: it was _not_ friendly.

Two steps into the room, and it was throwing fireballs at them left and right, adding yet another source of fire to the four already firing at them.

 _Of all things, it just_ had _to be fire._

Serana lunged from cover, an ice spike at the ready, and launched her magic at the creature, the magical frozen projectile sinking partway into its rocky skin. The creature, which seemed to have a permanently open mouth, looked down at the spike for a moment before returning its attention to Serana as the heat inside and out of its body melted the spike away. Still, there was a large hole left behind, so she'd dealt some damage at least. From her right, she heard Bard's now-familiar growl as he pounced on one of the pillars and tore its soul gem from its mountings, silencing the caster.

On the opposite side of the room, Valerica did the same, giving Serana the opening she needed to charge toward the ash creature. Her dagger lunged for its neck, colliding with the wide end of its weapon and forcing her to readjust her angle of attack. A flying roundhouse to its shoulder dug the end of her boot into its neck, but sent her reeling when the heat radiating off it threatened to catch her trousers on fire. She twirled her body the other way and fell into a crouch mid-movement when it swung for her head, her boot kicking out to plant sole-first into its right knee. The blow caved it in partway, Serana following up her strike with a slash that carved a thin line through the limb and severed it at the knee.

She pinned its armed hand to the ground by the wrist by driving her dagger through it into the ground, then finished it off with an ice spike to the face. She took a moment or two to watch the light literally go out of its eyes before the entire thing crumbled to ash, leaving behind several large, uncut gems similar to those dead gargoyles leave behind. Frowning, Serana looked up to see Bard and Valerica striding toward her, the final two gems in hand. Bard nodded at the ash pile when he got close.

"What _was_ that thing?"

Serana frowned and retrieved her dagger. "Don't know, but it channels fire magic like nothing I've ever seen, except maybe a Fire Atronach."

Bard bent over the ashes and frowned, running two fingers through the creature's remains. "Valerica, have you ever seen anything like this before?"

She frowned. "Can't say I have, but I've been in exile for the last millennium."

"Right." He stood. "Could've developed anywhere in there."

"If this is really her base of operations," said Serana, "she might have a record explaining what these things are."

"If she's not here herself."

"Right. That too." Her lips pursed as she wiped her blade off and sheathed it. "Either way, we're not gonna learn anything else here."

…

"Jackpot."

Agmaer's eyebrows hiked upward. "You found it?"

"Well…no. Not exactly. But I found where to start."

He frowned. "Wait…what exactly are we looking for?"

"Uh…a…record," she replied distractedly as she tossed through a cluster of dusty old tomes. "A history…a formula…something to indicate a way to track the Amulet of Riving."

"And you think these books can help?"

Brelyna pulled a small journal from a bag at her hip, opening it to the middle. "According to this, Otar the Mad kept meticulous records of his dealings throughout the years, as a means of boosting his own ego. If that trend holds, we'll find a record of him receiving the amulet somewhere in here."

Agmaer's brows furrowed as he looked over her shoulder at the journal. His eyes widened when he recognized the handwriting. "Wait…is that—"

"Ketar's, yes. He keeps notes of everything important that transpires in his life."

He snorted. "When does he have the _time_?"

Brelyna smiled. "You are not the first to ask." She chuckled. "I still haven't figured that out myself."

He smiled back, then paced off to let her work. His eyes scanned over their surroundings, a rectangular space enclosed on either end by stairs with an empty coffin in the center of the room. Various burial urns were scattered around the place, as well as several more standing coffins lining the tops of the stairs. Something about this room made him uneasy, and if there was one thing Isran and Ketar agreed on, it was to trust one's instincts in places like this. To alleviate some of the tension, he turned to Brelyna and swept his eyes over the tomes she was examining. The text inside looked vaguely similar to the stick-and-dot strokes on the Word Walls he'd seen Ketar examine.

"Can you really read those?" he asked her.

Brelyna frowned in concentration. "A little. Enough to get the gist of what they're saying. This one is…" she sighed, "not the right one." She tossed it aside and moved onto the next in a large pile of books.

"So your plan is just to keep skimming books until you find the right one?"

She laughed a little. "Believe it or not, that's a lot of what goes into studying magic."

Agmaer's head shook slowly. "I respect what you do, but I don't think I could ever engage in it. I learn more with hands-on instruction, if you get my drift."

Brelyna shrugged. "To each their own, I guess. But Serana was right about one thing: both are needed on expeditions like this."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

She smiled up at him. "We met only briefly in Winterhold a few months back, but after hearing what you've been doing in the time since…"

He frowned uncertainly. "And…what did you hear?"

She waved at him. "What _didn't_ I hear? You fired a bolt that saved Serana's life, helped storm a castle _filled_ with vampires, and then spent the months that followed spearheading the hunt to destroy what was left of them. And you helped Ketar and the others take on a horde of pureblooded vampires." She smirked. "Valerica was very emphatic about _that_ bit."

Agmaer's eyes widened. "Um…she was…huh?"

Brelyna nodded slowly as she returned to the books. "She's _very_ proud of you. We _all_ are." She glanced back at him shyly. "Try to remember that the next time you're feeling small."

He stared at her for a while, blinking several times as he turned away, wiping a hand across his eyes. "Thanks," he said softly.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Anytime."

The moment he faced away from her fully, Agmaer's hackles rose again tenfold. It was like he could _taste_ danger in the air. His eyes immediately locked onto a row of coffins at one end of the room.

"Hey…Lyn?"

"Yeah?" she asked distractedly.

His right hand went up to the handle of his crossbow. "About how much longer do you think it'll take you to find that book?"

"Um…I don't know. Five, maybe ten minutes? Why?"

Two of the coffins broke open with a crash, the rotting, armored forms of Draugr emerging from them with glowing eyes and ancient weapons.

Agmaer hit the switch to extend his crossbow's limbs, hefting the weapon to eye level. "Because I _seriously_ doubt we have five minutes."

…

With four floors between them and the top, and presumably Sarothril's chambers, it was no question that they'd run into more defenses. What surprised Serana was the fact that Bard hadn't once pulled a weapon the whole time. Even Valerica had had to draw her dagger or magic when those ash creatures started coming out of the woodwork. Bard? Not so much. So, by the time they cleared the fourth floor and were moving to the top, Serana had to know…

"Do you only ever use your hands in a fight?"

He blinked and met her questioning gaze. "Excuse me?"

"Ever since that alley, I haven't seen you draw a weapon. Not once. Why?"

Bard shrugged. "I never felt the need." At her continued perusal, he sighed. "Something you have to understand about me, Serana: I _hate_ using unnecessary force. There was a time where I believed overkill to be underrated, but at this point, I refuse to draw a weapon when the danger before me doesn't require it."

She arched a raven eyebrow. "And fighting off six trained killers didn't fit the bill?"

Serana saw the ghost of a smirk play over his lips before he answered. "Do you remember what I told you about Lord Zhanikan? About his role in Zhanik'la's culture?"

She frowned. "Apart from being the king?" Her lips pursed tightly. "You said something about…an avatar."

He nodded slowly. "Well where I come from, there are three such entities, each encompassing an aspect of what we call the 'Hero's Trine.'"

"And those are?"

He smiled. "Well, you already know about Lord Zhanikan, our Avatar of Power. He serves as our knight-king and guardian, and is the embodiment of a perfect union between both other aspects of the Trine. There's Cain Rencir, a half-Elf mage of _incomparable_ talent who's been with us from the beginning. _His_ role is as Avatar of Magic, tasked with the preservation of magical knowledge and punishment of those who misuse it. He also serves as Zhanikan's Lord Scholar."

"And the last?"

That same ghost of a smirk played over his lips. "The Avatar of Skill, the culmination and pinnacle of martial ability in Zhanik'la. Essentially void of magic, this Avatar focuses exclusively on physical and mental acuity in battle, with any weapon put in their hand." His eyes turned to meet Serana's gaze. "They also serve as Zhanikan's Lord Protector."

Her eyes went double-wide.

Bard finally let the smirk show fully. "So you see, a few thugs in a back alley hardly rate a sidebar."

"I would say I'm impressed," said Valerica, "but I haven't seen you in action long enough to actually tell if that's true."

Serana cast her a glance. "Trust me, if you'd been in that alley, you'd know."

Valerica grunted and pushed open a door at the top of the stairs, which opened into a dimly lit room strewn with torn papers and clothes that had been thrown down. The others entered the room in single file, spreading out a small distance as they observed their surroundings.

Bard sniffed the air a few times. "No one else here."

"Agreed," said Valerica.

Serana strode over to a nearby desk and began leafing through a few torn books. "Looks like she cleared out in a hurry."

Valerica nodded at the desk. "Anything useful there?"

She frowned. "Not sure yet."

"Then let's toss the place," Bard said. "She wouldn't have left that address with the shopkeep, then just disappeared for no reason."

"Right."

It was about a minute into their search that Bard vanished into a side room to look elsewhere, leaving Serana and her mother alone. Something that proved extremely detrimental to the former's concentration, seeing as how the presence of their strange guest had kept much of her attention off her more… _turbulent_ considerations. As memories of the past few days kept playing in her head, one rose to the fore that reminded her of something that had been bothering her for a while.

"Mother…what are you doing with Agmaer?"

Valerica blinked and looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed and slapped the book she was carrying closed, giving her mother a sideways look. "I'm not stupid, Mother. I _know_ something's going on. I noticed it back in Jorrvaskr, and every time since, when you two have been near each other, there's this… _look_ in your eyes."

Valerica arched an eyebrow and smirked.

Serana pointed at her. " _That_ one."

The elder chuckled softly. "All right." She held her hands up in surrender. "You caught me."

Serana's eyes widened in horror. "Mother…you're not—"

"Oh gods no. _You_ may be perfectly content to shack up with someone several centuries your junior, but I require someone with a little more…maturity."

She arched a brow. "You're gonna be looking a _really_ long time then."

Valerica huffed and waved dismissively. "It's not about chronology, Serana. It's about life experience. Agmaer simply hasn't lived enough to properly satisfy a woman." She smirked. "Which is what I'm helping him with."

Sera stared at her for a few moments in confusion before her eyes slowly narrowed. "Wait a minute…"

That conspiratorial smirk returned.

"…that's why he's with Brelyna, isn't it?"

She barked a laugh and clapped once. " _Now_ you're catching on."

"But…why?"

"Why not?"

"I mean…of everyone you could've taken under your wing, why him?"

Valerica sighed hard. "That, my dear daughter, is _your_ fault."

Serana blinked hard. " _What_?"

She held her hands up calmingly. "Now, now, hold your horses. What I mean is: he had a schoolboy crush on you. Anyone who knows your history with the Dawnguard knows that. After Harkon's death, when you moved in with Ketar, despite knowing you were never his to begin with, he was crushed."

"Wha—but…I…I told him—"

"I know you did, but actions speak louder than words. And with men like Ketar on the field, taking up even unwanted attention, you can't blame him for feeling inadequate, or even inferior."

Serana frowned and looked away, eyebrows furrowing a moment later. "Wait…how do _you_ know all this?"

"Oh, he told me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Valerica smirked. "Because he had four casks of Black-Briar mead in him. It was the night after you killed Vingalmo."

Sera blinked. "That's why you stayed with him…and kept embellishing his story."

She nodded slowly. "Whether you meant to or not, rejecting him dealt a _serious_ blow to his mental state when it comes to women. His confidence was completely annihilated. So…I helped him along a bit. Made sure nothing happened that he'd regret when sober, but also ensured that he knew better than to think he was irrelevant."

"…and Brelyna is the next step?"

Another nod. "I'd asked Lydia about anyone she knew would be a good fit for Agmaer. The Dunmer girl came up immediately."

Serana's eyes widened. "Wait— _Lydia_ is part of this?" Her head cocked. "Actually…no, that makes perfect sense."

Valerica chuckled. "She practically started cackling when she heard what I was suggesting. With Brelyna's pressures as a mage and Agmaer's ingrained feelings of inadequacy, I figured the two would hit it off right away…and they did. Even if nothing more comes of it, if their relationship doesn't work out, the fact that he's garnered the attention of a smart, sophisticated young woman will serve as a reminder that he isn't a hopeless cause."

"And a reason to keep trying."

Her mother nodded.

Serana stared absently at the book in her hands, a smile twitching at her lips. "That's…actually really sweet. Manipulative, but sweet."

Valerica snorted. "You're hardly one to judge about relationship decisions."

Sera's blood ran cold as she tensed up. "…what?"

A sigh. "Serana, I heard everything that was said in Breezehome. And I've waited all this time for you to bring it up, but you haven't, so now I have to ask: what the hell were you thinking?"

She blinked and stared at her mother. "What?"

Valerica stared back. "You turned him down cold…why?"

"I-I told them. I wasn't ready. I'm _not_ ready."

A shiver ran down Serana's spine at the warning look that entered her mother's eyes. "Serana…I've known you your entire life; I practically raised you by myself. So, if the next words that come out of your mouth aren't the complete and absolute truth, I'm going to put you across my knee." Her eyes narrowed. "And don't think I can't."

Serana gulped hard, blinking several times and feeling her heart hammering in her chest as she turned away, unable to meet Valerica's gaze.

Valerica sighed as her tone softened. "Dearest…talk to me."

Her eyes stung as she leaned on the desk. "I'm going to lose him."

"…what do you mean?"

Another gulp. "I mean…no matter what I do, no matter how hard we fight…I'm going to lose him someday. To disease, or battle, or…just old age. The harsh truth, the one that I hardly even _considered_ until he proposed…is that I'm immortal…" she looked up at her mother, eyes puffy, "and he's not." She wiped her eyes and started pacing. "And no matter how I try to think about it, how I try to figure a way out, there's no way to _fix_ that. I keep trying to tell myself it doesn't matter, that I still have time with him and I should enjoy the moment, but how…how I can promise to be with him forever…when I know I can't?"

The room was utterly silent for about ten seconds before a harsh, pronounced sigh filled the air.

"Serana…forever means something very different for mortals."

She sighed in exasperation. "I know that, but—"

"Uh-uh—I'm not finished. Forever is something they promise each other, knowing full well that forever isn't theirs to give. What they _do_ have is _love_. Unrestrained, unadulterated, unconditional love. And that, my dear, is something that transcends time…and even death." Valerica frowned deeply. "And…it's something I don't believe I've had the privilege of knowing."

Serana blinked and stared blankly as her mother sagged into a chair, looking more wounded and vulnerable than she'd ever seen.

"Even before your father lost his mind, our relationship, our marriage was based on a paradigm of power. It was less love and more…passionate rivalry. Which, I suppose, was good enough…for a time. But as the years dragged by, and we each became consumed with our own pursuits, I saw the effects it had on the both of us. You saw it too, and that was the worst part. You were caught in the crossfire, and I didn't even realize—or perhaps I did and exploited that. I'm sorry."

"Mother—"

"I've been alive for well over a thousand years, Serana." Valerica looked up at her daughter, pain and regret in her eyes as her voice cracked. "Do you know…how many of those I would give up…to experience _one_ _day_ of what you share with that man?"

Sera's throat closed.

The elder vampire wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Worrying about the future is the curse of every immortal, and for those like us, who care deeply about the people in our lives, the worst feeling is knowing that someday…they're going to leave you, and there's nothing you can do about it. This…is the greatest curse of immortality, but it is one we accepted when we became vampires. You may not like it, you may not want to accept it, but that is the reality of our lives. That is the price we paid for a gift most people can only _dream_ of. And you _must_ come to terms with that, or you will lose _everything_ that makes that eternal life worth living."

Valerica stood shakily and approached her daughter, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Because your love is the same kind of priceless gift. So please…reconsider, and reconsider again. Because I promise that if you deny him this, deny _yourself_ this because you were afraid of losing him…and the day comes when he's gone forever…" Her gaze intensified. "It will be the single greatest regret you ever carry."

Serana couldn't speak, couldn't respond at all; she just stared into her mother's eyes and gulped hard.

Valerica's lips pursed as she held her daughter for a few more seconds before slowly releasing her. Serana responded by pulling her back into a tight embrace, her eyes uncontrollably overflowing with tears.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know," replied her mother, stroking a hand through her hair. "And I won't say that fear goes away; I'd be lying. But you will find a way to live with it, I promise."

Serana stayed quiet, periodically shaking as she held onto her mother like a lifeline. "You're wrong, you know."

"What?"

Sera sniffed and wiped her eyes. "You're wrong. You _have_ known love. Maybe not the way I've experienced it with Ketar, but…you have it." She gave a watery smile. "I love you."

Valerica's face twitched with restrained emotion as she pulled her daughter close and held her there. "And I love you…" her voice cracked and frayed, "more than anything in this world. Never forget that."

"I won't," Serana assured softly.

They held each other a little while longer before breaking apart and fixing themselves. Not thirty seconds later, Bard walked back into the room with a book in his hands.

"Hey!" he called. "Found something you might be interested in."

Valerica waved at the desk, her voice even once more. "Show us."

He opened the book and flipped to one of its center pages, laying it out on the desk. "This is one of Ildari's research journals. She had it tucked away behind a series of false panels. Difficult to find, but not impossible for someone with my nose." He smirked. "I could smell the ink and parchment a mile away."

"Anything about where she's gone?" asked Serana.

"Not that I've seen, but I think I know what she's working on, what she needs the artifact and the mineral for." He placed a forefinger on a paragraph near the bottom of the right-side page. "She wants to replicate the Red Mountain incident."

Sera frowned. "The what?"

Bard blinked. "Right. Asleep. About two-hundred years ago, the Red Mountain of Vvardenfell, the main island comprising Morrowind, erupted. It spewed lava and volcanic ash in all directions. Thousands were killed." He flipped the page and pointed to a drawing of a strange, circular volcanic rock. "It also spewed _these_ in a radius of over fifty miles."

Serana realigned the journal so she could get a better look.

"She calls them 'Heart Stones,' pieces of the Red Mountain's core that bear strange magical properties. One such property—" he flipped to the next page, which had a drawing of the ash creatures they'd battled earlier, "—is the raising of these. They're called 'Ash Spawn,' and apparently, they only appeared after the eruption, presumably comprised of the ash and rock left behind. Based on research performed by her and someone called Neloth, this ability can be transferred to sentient beings."

Serana frowned and looked up at Bard. "Wait…Neloth?"

He blinked. "That name mean something to you?"

Her lips pursed. "Before I left Solstheim, Ketar and I encountered a Dunmer wizard named Neloth. Total egomaniac; a real piece of work."

"Hm, well that definitely fits with her observations about him. Neloth theorized that by installing a Heart Stone in place of one's natural heart, they could enhance their own magical power—and prolong their own life, even in the face of death in battle."

Serana blinked. "So…theoretically…these things could make someone immortal?"

Valerica threw her a worried look.

Bard's lips pursed. "Theoretically, but the operation is risky. Ildari actually died because of it."

Valerica frowned. "That makes no sense. If she died, how did she write about it after the fact?"

"Because the Stone brought her back, after she was already entombed. She had to claw her way out of a sarcophagus. It also gave her an innate connection to Ash Spawn, and the ability to control them."

"Thus," said Serana, "why she's using a bunch of them as guards."

"Exactly. But she needs more. According to her notes, she intends to perform a ritual that will harness the power of nearly every Heart Stone in existence and summon an army of Ash Spawn under her control. For that—"

"She needs the artifact and mineral," Valerica finished.

Bard nodded.

"And what about the Mace of Molag Bal?"

He frowned. "If it's involved in her plans, she didn't mention it."

"Any idea where this ritual is supposed to take place?" asked Serana.

"I don't know for sure, but she makes references to another laboratory in a place called 'Highpoint Tower.'" He flipped the journal closed. "In Solstheim."

Sera frowned deeply, Valerica giving her a side-eyed look.

The younger vampire sighed after a few seconds. "Then I guess we're going to Solstheim."

…

"All right. Everything is set up, just the way you asked."

Ketar nodded his thanks to Neloth while pulling the new Black Book from the rift. He frowned at the sigil on its front cover as the wizard busied himself in another room.

"Are you sure about this?"

He blinked and looked over at Frea. "If I want to know how to stop Miraak, I don't have a choice." His lips pursed tightly. "If…if it's not too much trouble, could you stay here and watch over me?"

Frea blinked and arched an eyebrow.

Ketar cast a glance at the side door Neloth had disappeared into. "Even if I am only here in part, I don't trust Neloth enough to leave myself vulnerable around him." He returned his gaze to her. "Are you okay with staying here? It could take a while."

Frea's lips pursed as she crossed her arms. "I wasn't going to assume, but I'd hoped you would agree to something like that."

He smiled and nodded. "Glad we're on the same page."

His attention returned to the book as Neloth reentered the room. The wizard's full attention was on Ketar, who exhaled hard after a while and laid down on a nearby cot. He'd learned his lesson after last time's collapse. A long, hard breath was exhaled as he made to open the front cover.

"Here we go…"

"Be sure to say hello to Hermaeus Mora for me, if you see him."

Ketar's eyes snapped to Neloth, the speaker, staring for a few moments before slowly returning to the book. He flipped open to the first page and began reading.

 _"_ Epistolary Acumen _, by the Transparent One. Bring you forth the lovestruck mute who preys with vigor on his love, and set the sky alight with all who dare to struggle 'gainst our move. For we are they who own the night and all who dwell without us fall; we drink the mind-grapes formed of thought and wail a tumult on the wall. To sweep—"_

Like before, the moment he reached the end of the first page, the ink came alive and grabbed him, the same uneasy turn of his stomach erupting in his gut as he was sucked into the realm of Apocrypha.

* * *

AN: All right! Just a little over a week between updates. Getting better. I'm really trying to muscle my way through this arc, but it's really difficult for me, because I don't like writing depressing story arcs. I mean, unlike you guys, I know what happens at the end, but while I'm in it, and have only released what I have so far…well, let's just say I'm as affected as you are by what's going on.

I really want to read your comments about this chapter. I had a lot going on and I hope I was able to do it all justice, but I don't know. I'm kind of a scatterbrain, so if something seems out of order or place, please let me know. This storyline is kind of taking on a life of its own, and I really just want to get through it, but to make this as valuable and impactful as I'd originally planned, I need to stick it out and muscle through the pain.

On that note, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to more. Rest assured, you'll get to see Bard fight full-force at some point, but like he said, unless there's something that's an actual threat, he doesn't really use his weapons. For now, I'll leave it at that and hope to see your comments soon.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

TES V: Skyrim – Death or Sovngarde: Ketar and party vs. Krosulhah

Dragon language translations:

" _Wo kos hi, dovah_?!" – Who are you, dragon?

" _Zu'u_ Krosulhah, _aar do_ Miraak _ahrk hin al_!" – I am Krosulhah, servant of Miraak and your destroyer!

" _Lotdovahhe lost togaat_." – Greater dragons than you have tried.


	10. The First Dragonborn

Visiting Oblivion was always a learning experience.

It didn't matter how many books you read, or accounts you recounted of people who'd experienced it. It didn't even matter which plane of Oblivion was involved. Stepping into another world, most of them unreasonably strange, always threw the mortal mind for a loop, especially when the mind involved hadn't experienced it often—or ever. So, when Ketar Dov found himself touching down on a platform of dull gray stone with familiar arches, surrounded on all sides by fetid, dark green liquid; it was a small shock. What happened a moment later didn't improve his mood any.

Specifically, the eruption of several points in the air far above and in front of him into dark pools of roiling tentacles—and an all-too-familiar set of eyes.

Ketar's jaw clenched. "Mora."

"Greetings…champion," replied the Daedra in a smooth, luxurious tone. "It has been some time since our last encounter."

"Not long enough," he replied.

"You curse me, and yet you benefitted most from my machinations. The Oghma Infinium gave you the knowledge needed to cure yourself of vampirism…among other things. In a way…I would say you owe me."

"Don't fool yourself, Mora. You got something out of that deal too."

"…true. But that was just the beginning. _This_ …is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded."

Ketar looked around at the endless wasteland of stone and green goop, realizing after a while that some of the stones were actually _books_. Massive bookcases made up entire structures, and pages from their depths flew through the air in haphazard arcs.

He arched an eyebrow at the scenery. "It's messier than I expected."

"When collecting every speck of knowledge in the universe, a little clutter is bound to happen. As for you, given your disdain for me, I assume you came here for a reason."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "I need to know how to stop Miraak."

Hermaeus Mora hummed absently for a while before he grunted. "Very well. You may sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks of my library. If you tire of your search, read your book again to return to your mortal life…for a time. The lure of Apocrypha will call you back. It is your fate."

He smiled nastily. "No one controls me, Mora. No one ever has. No one ever will."

"And yet you are controlled this very instant, by something beyond yourself. Does it dominate your will…or do you merely allow it to drive your actions? Hmm…an interesting conundrum."

Ketar frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Perhaps you will learn the answer with time and research…perhaps not. Either way, you may come and go as you please."

Ketar stared at him until the eyes and tentacles vanished into thin air, a hard breath escaping his lungs. His attention turned to a strange, plant-like device on a pedestal in front of him, fingers reaching out to pull a bulb loose of the middle of three stalks. The bulb floated gently down to the center of the pedestal, the stalks retracting into it as well. As a result, the environment and structures began moving about, a perforated arch in front of him unfolding into a bridge that led to a tunnel made of one of those bookcases. A hard, pronounced sigh left his lips as he traversed the endless stacks of books, following a long, convoluted trail filled with that sickly green liquid and rolled-up tentacles protruding from it.

He gave them all a _very_ wide berth.

Finally, he reached a platform surrounded by arches, with a podium at the far end bearing an open book whose pages were covered in symbols. Symbols in common, in _Dovahzul_ , in languages he didn't even recognize; flew across its pages, the unintelligible words calling to him in a way he didn't like. Still, he needed the knowledge this book contained, and there wasn't another way forward. Reluctantly, Ketar reached out and placed his right hand on the book, the moving ink sweeping and curling around his fingers, then exploding up his arm, a sheet of opaque black rapidly covering him from head to toe. It wasn't until the ink reached his face that he started to panic.

It crawled over his features and knitted itself together until he couldn't see a thing, and then there was only darkness.

…

"I assume you used a ship to get there the first time, yes?"

"Of course. The _Northern Maiden_ should still be moored in Windhelm, but I doubt the crew will be willing to launch so soon after arriving. We'd best wait until the morning at the earliest."

Bard nodded. "Understood. Where to then?"

Valerica glanced at them, pocketing Ildari's journal. "We agreed to meet in Whiterun to discuss our next move once we conducted a preliminary investigation. We'll wait there for the others, then head out in the morning."

Serana nodded. "Agreed. I could use the rest."

On their way out, Serana was distracted, deep in consideration over the conversation she'd just had with her mother, and if the way she'd broken down during said conversation was any indication, Valerica was in a similar shape. As such, neither of them noticed a quiet hissing from one side until it grew into a loud _pop_ , at which point they whirled toward the source, another gem-powered magic caster. It took Serana all of half a second to realize that her mother was about to be hit full-on by a large fireball, and at this distance, not even her advanced reflexes could prevent it. The girl lunged forward, trying to reach Valerica despite knowing it was futile.

Mid-lunge, she heard a series of rapid clanks split the air, followed by a loud _whoosh_ coming from Bard's direction. Her eyes went double-wide when she saw it: a long spear of pure gold, divided into several segments and tipped with a back-rounded spearhead bearing Nordic runes. And it was flying directly toward Valerica. Or, rather, just in front of her. At the very least, the impact of the fireball on the spear would mitigate some damage. What actually happened was _considerably_ more unnerving.

Specifically, the moment the fireball touched the spearhead, it collapsed in on itself. No, that wasn't quite right. It collapsed into the spearhead, snuffed from existence in a split-second as the weapon flew past and imbedded itself in a far wall. Both vampires stood stock-still for a few seconds, slowly turning to face Bard, who was still in a post-throw posture. The look on his face was pure, cold determination—the same one that had unnerved Serana when they first met in Jorrvaskr. It still unnerved her now, especially when he stretched out his hand in a grasping motion, and the spear wrenched itself from the wall without being touched. It returned to his hand a moment later and collapsed into the golden baton she'd noticed on his belt earlier.

"How—what—" Sera frowned. "I thought you said you didn't use magic."

"I don't," he replied, approaching them, "but I said nothing about magical weapons." Bard smiled at Valerica, who hadn't taken her eyes off him. "Are you all right?"

The matron eyed him for a few moments before nodding slightly. "Fine. Thank you."

He bowed his head slightly and moved for the exit, the two vampires trailing behind.

Valerica leaned toward Serana, voice lower than a whisper. "Do you realize how fast he must've been to make that throw?"

She blinked. "Considerably faster than either of us, or he anticipated it."

"Either way, this Bard character is more impressive than I gave him credit for. Just how much so remains to be seen."

Serana's brows furrowed as she gave her mother a sideways look. "What do you mean?"

Valerica's lips pursed. "Oh, nothing."

The girl gave her mother a brief deadpan look before rolling her eyes and focusing on the journey home.

…

Twenty-five. Agmaer had spent twenty-five Dwarven metal bolts repelling the Draugr so far, and there were absolutely no indications of them stopping anytime soon. Brelyna, by contrast, was speed-reading through a veritable _mountain_ of books, trying to find Otar's secrets, but there was so much irrelevant history to sort through. Or so she'd been telling him for the past two minutes. At present, he was standing right next to her, back-to-back as she tossed Otar's library. Both ends of the room, from the tops of both sets of stairs, Draugr were pouring into the chamber, their corpses littering the ground above and below the stairs.

It was only a matter of time before they were overrun, and Agmaer knew it. So, he loaded a bolt from a different quiver into his crossbow and took aim at a cluster of Draugr in the tunnel they'd entered from. His aim shifted upward as they approached a cracked archway, the trigger depressed a split-second later. The Dwarven bolt flew from his crossbow, erupting in an explosion of frost magic that encased the archway in ice. Another, different bolt was loaded into the chamber immediately after the previous one was launched, this one sent into the same frozen stone.

The combination of extreme cold and the explosive force of his fire bolt shattered the brittlized arch, sending several thousand pounds of rock and dirt tumbling on the Draugr and blocking the passage. And giving Agmaer only one direction to cover. He loaded and fired three normal bolts in rapid succession, two impacting the raised shields of heavily armored Draugr, the third sinking deep into the forehead of a third. He reloaded and sent another shot toward the shield-bearers before shifting his aim lower and nailing them both in the knees. Seeing how they were at the top of the stairs, when their crippled legs gave out, they tumbled unceremoniously down to their level, bodies splayed out flat and vulnerable.

Agmaer put a bolt through each of their heads a second later. His third shot was directed into the chest of an unarmored Draugr at the top of the stairs, nailing his heart. He kept breathing as he fell into something of a battle trance.

 _Breathe. In. Out. Fire. Reload._ _Repeat._

Two more Draugr joined the pile of bodies gathering on and around the stairs.

 _Fire. Reload. Repeat._

A shield-bearing Draugr charged down the stairs, his aegis held high and nearly bowling Agmaer over when he bee-lined for the hunter. Agmaer rolled to the side, realigning himself and tagging the undead in the back of the leg, then shifting his attention back to the stairs when two more came running down. One was shot in the gut, the other in the neck. The crippled shield-bearer behind him made a swing for his back, but he rolled away, then leapt for it with his left arm and legs extended. His legs curled around the Draugr's sword-arm, his arm around its neck, and with a twist of his hips, he used his body weight to grapple the undead to the ground.

His right hand used his crossbow to pin the Draugr's shield-arm while his left went to one of his quivers and jammed a bolt into its mouth. That same bolt went into his crossbow as he quickly shifted his body to lie on his side and fired it into the Draugr he'd shot in the gut, finally getting a perfect headshot.

 _In. Out. Reload. Fire._

Agmaer's head snapped toward the collapsed passage at the sound of stones being rolled away. "Brelyna!" he shouted. "How we doing?"

"I-I'm looking as fast as I can! Otar had _terrible_ handwriting!"

"Yeah, well, not to alarm you, but I think I'm running out of ammo."

"Just let me _concentrate_!"

Agmaer huffed and fired another trio of bolts into a heavily armored Draugr that just kept coming. So focused was he on the walking suit of armor that he didn't notice the three other lightly armored Draugr coming in behind it. As a result, all four of them were on him in seconds, and he couldn't put some distance between them or he'd risk Brelyna.

 _Dammit,_ he thought with a frown. _I hate doing this._

Immediately after reloading his crossbow, Agmaer's left hand went to the front of the weapon and depressed a button on the side of the barrel. With a pronounced click and the snap of a spring, a thin section of the barrel's bottom snapped forward, revealing part of the plating to actually be a Dwarven metal bayonet about eight inches in length. He fired one bolt into the shoulder of one of the unarmored Draugr, using the body of his crossbow to deflect an axe-strike by the armored one and countering with a bayonet slash to its right hip. The Dwarven blade sliced through a small gap in its armor and severed some of the connective tissue underneath as the others moved in.

Their swords and axes swung at him from all sides, the hunter deftly ducking and weaving around their attacks until he saw an opening and stabbed forward, nailing one in the rib cage and shoving him into the one he'd already put a bolt in. The one still coming made to take off his leg, Agmaer stabbing his bayonet into the ground and using the crossbow as a barrier to stop the strike as he planted a side-kick into the thing's chest. Yanking the crossbow loose, he fired a bolt into the head of the one he'd just stunned, whirling around to slash the wrist of the recovering armored Draugr, disarming him, then ramming the butt of his crossbow into its gut. He spun clockwise and placed both hands on the hilt of his weapon, extending it fully to sweep out the undead's legs.

His bayonet entered its skull a moment later.

The last two Draugr found themselves on the receiving end of a shoulder charge with Agmaer's bayonet planted in one of their chests until he drove them into a wall. With both of them pinned and stacked up, it took only a moment to rip the blade loose and put his last bolt through both their heads at once. Black ichor splattered the stones as they slumped to the ground, Agmaer finishing off his second-to-last quiver's contents as he reloaded his crossbow. The moans of more undead erupted from a newly sprouted hole in the collapsed passage, one of them clawing through a space just large enough to fit an arm.

He hissed through his teeth and took aim at the gap, waiting for a clear shot. "Lyn?!"

"Hold on…hold on…wait…yes— _yes_! I've got it!" The Dunmer girl held up a book with a red leather cover in triumph. "I found the formula!"

Agmaer ran over and grabbed her hand, yanking her toward the open passage. "Then let's go!"

He heard no protests as they ran past a pile of over a dozen undead corpses, past Draugr that were still moving but too slow to catch up, past disabled traps and opening coffins, all the way to the exit of Ragnvald. Agmaer shoved the door closed and used the last of his petering adrenaline to tilt a nearby standing coffin to block the entrance. Both were breathing heavily by the time they realized it was snowing.

They slowly turned to face each other, Brelyna speaking first. "So…I guess…Ketar wasn't as thorough as he thought."

Agmaer stared at her for a few seconds before they both erupted into laughter, soft at first, then louder and harder as relief coursed through them. "Lets—" he said between laughs, "— _never_ do that again."

Brelyna laughed harder. "Agreed." When they finally calmed some, she approached and embraced him tightly. "Thanks for watching my back."

Agmaer smiled down at her as he placed his free hand on the lower half of said back, close to her waist. "Anytime, Lyn."

…

W-Where am I?

 _Slowly, a pair of eyes slid open, the vision beyond their lids that of a dark stone ceiling with ridges running back and forth across it. In just as sedated a pace, the owner of said eyes turned his body to plant feet-first on equally stony ground, the cold biting against his bare skin as he groaned softly. Not ten seconds later, several sharp knocks sounded at a set of iron double-doors with a familiar design._

 _"Enter," he answered in reflex, as if his voice had responded on its own._

What? That's…not my voice.

 _The doors opened with a small creak, permitting a middle-aged blond man with shoulder-length hair and the garb of a porter, or perhaps a butler._

 _"Bril," he greeted evenly._

 _Bril smiled and stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back. "Good morning, milord. How are you feeling?"_

 _Another small groan came from his throat as he slowly pushed himself upright. "Like someone took a ball hammer to my skull. Are my robes in the usual place?"_

 _"Of course, milord. I took the liberty of setting a breakfast out in your study. I hope it's to your liking."_

 _"I'm sure it will be," he said distractedly as he reached into an armoire and began drawing out richly knitted clothing of blue and green fabric. "Any news come while I was asleep?"_

 _Bril cleared his throat. "Well, I have some good news…and some_ not _so good news. Which would you prefer to hear first?"_

 _He sighed, lacing up his boots. "What do you think?"_

 _"Very well, sir. Lord Sahrotaar will be arriving in an hour."_

 _His body stiffened. "On such short notice?"_

 _"I'm afraid I only found out myself a few minutes ago, hence why I came to wake you."_

 _He sighed hard in exasperation as he yanked his robe back off. "Very well. Have my formal garb ready."_

 _"Already done, sir."_

 _"And the other piece of news?"_

 _At this, Bril sported a small, coy smile. "Miss Lizette is here."_

 _He felt his heart skip a beat, then immediately start hammering twice as fast. "Are you—no, of course you aren't jesting." His voice jumped excitedly. "When did she arrive?"_

 _The butler had an apologetic look. "Please forgive me, milord. She arrived last night, an hour or so after you'd already gone to bed. I'd made to wake you, but she insisted I let you sleep. And, well…one does not refuse a lady's request."_

 _He felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he clapped Bril on the shoulder and made for the door. "That you do not. Thank you, my friend. That's the best news I've heard all week."_

 _The light, elated feeling in his chest was arrested only by the sight of the "formal garb" he'd mentioned earlier._

No…it can't be.

 _His hands reached out with some hesitation, slowly donning a set of jet-black robes with all-too-familiar patterning in their fabric. It wasn't until he'd smoothed out the robes and drawn on his gauntlets that he saw the final piece of the apparel. It lacked the horns on top and the tentacles on the bottom, but there was absolutely no mistaking the semblance of the mask._

 _The stately man bowed at the waist. "I live to serve, Lord Miraak."_

…

"All right, I simply _must_ know."

Bard turned his head at Valerica's sudden outburst. "Know what?"

"The spear—what is it and where did you get it?"

He chuckled haltingly. "That's…a _really_ long story."

She waved at the open road. "We have time."

A sigh. "Well if you must know…it was a long time ago. A _very_ long time ago, when Zhan and I had first met. He wasn't a king back then. Point of fact, the nation of Zhanik'la wasn't even a twinkle in his eye. He was just an adventurer, looking to find his place in the world, and after I—" his eyes darkened for a moment, "—after my first experience with lycanthropy robbed me of my life, I was in the same boat." He smiled and cast Serana a glance. "Ketar actually reminds me of the person he was then quite a bit. Powerful, charismatic, intellectually brilliant.

"Anyway, for the first few years of our partnership, we hunted powerful magical artifacts of all types all over the world, some formed by legendary wizards, some by gods. Whatever their source, we acquired quite the arsenal over the course of our travels, and this spear—" he tapped the "baton" on his belt, "—was one of them."

Valerica frowned and nodded at it. "What is it exactly?"

Bard pulled the weapon from its slot and extended it to its full length, about eight feet in shaft with an eight-inch-long spearhead three inches at the back, where it was widest. The head's tip tapered out to a razor-fine, slightly rounded point, and its back was capped by a semi-circular formation anchoring it to the shaft. The whole thing was made of some sort of golden metal and covered from end to end in runes, many of which Serana didn't recognize. Some, however, were distinctly Nordic in nature, especially the ones on the spearhead.

"There is a legend that surrounds this spear, of a catastrophic battle that took place on the tundra of Skyrim between the Nords of Ysgramor and the native Snow Elves. The Elves had beaten the Nords back time and again for months, until Shor had pity on mankind and sent them a weapon capable of piercing the powerful magical barriers the Elves employed." The spear's runes began glowing faintly, as golden and bright as the metal that comprised it. "They called it 'Gungnir.'"

Serana stared at the weapon, lips parted slightly. "What does it do?"

He glanced her way. "Well, the body, as you've seen, can collapse into itself for easy storage and concealment. The metal it's made of is unlike anything I've ever seen; effectively indestructible, but lighter than bronze. Even the _Dwarves_ haven't seen its like before."

Serana's eyebrows shot skyward. "Wait—Dwarves?"

Bard blinked and grimaced. "Eh…long…story."

"…you mean to tell me there are still living Dwemer?"

His lips pursed. "Not exactly." His head shook. "It's complicated. Suffice to say, not _all_ of their kin were such malevolent swine. Or so greedy. For now, I'm afraid that's all I can say, for their safety."

Valerica frowned and exchanged a look with Serana before returning her attention to the spear. "I witnessed it do something strange to that fireball back there."

"Yes," he continued. "It disrupts any magic it touches; that was Shor's primary intention. The whole thing is enchanted thusly, but the tip is where the weapon's power is most prevalent." He angled said tip toward the ladies. "This spearhead can pierce any magic it touches; any barrier, spell, or other magical effect vanishes as soon as it comes into contact with this metal."

"That's… _impossible_. I mean, the level of intelligence and care that must've gone into enchanting it—"

"Is astronomical, I know. Thus, why it could only be forged by a god."

"Here's another question," said Serana. "Why did it return to your hand if you can't use magic?"

"Because it's bonded to me."

"Come again?"

"When I first acquired Gungnir, I gave it to Zhanikan like the other artifacts, but he insisted I keep it as a gift because of my training in the Imperial Legion. Because of Shor's favor to mankind, only a human is capable of using it, so Zhan taught me how to unlock its full power by coating the runes of the spearhead in my blood. With that offering, I became the one true wielder of Gungnir until death. As such, it responds to my every command. It goes exactly where I tell it to, never misses, and always returns to my hand when its task is done.

"Because it's so lightweight and perfectly balanced, it is, essentially, the ultimate weapon against mages and magical creatures, even at long range." He collapsed the spear and tucked it back into his belt. "Thus, why I've never felt the need to study magic." A snort. "That, and I don't have the slightest talent for it."

Valerica just kept staring at his profile. "Still…to be the master of such a weapon…you really are quite something, Bard Gorshun."

Bard smiled a little and tipped his head down, his focus on the road. "You flatter me, milady."

Serana's eyes darted between the two repeatedly, lingering a little longer on her mother's persistent smirk. With a small huff and roll of her eyes, she returned her gaze to the road and just kept walking.

…

What in the sixteen planes of Oblivion is happening to me?

 _Miraak strode through a winding set of hallways that was rapidly becoming more familiar to the mind currently trapped in his body. He just kept seeing them in dilapidated ruins, with the corpses of Draugr strewn about. It was a few minutes before he finally came to a stop, and when he did, his mask immediately came off so he could see more clearly the heavenly figure sitting before him. Or, at least, that's the way_ Miraak _was feeling._

 _"Lizette," he exhaled, approaching the seated figure with measured steps._

 _The woman sitting in the chair was wearing a hood, a few rogue strands of red hair escaping it as she turned her head to look up at the priest. Her eyes were a deep green, like the needles of a conifer, but sparkling with an excited energy that set his blood ablaze. Her features broke out into a smile, blood-red lips turning upward and splitting apart to show two perfect rows of pearly white teeth._

 _"Mire," she intoned in a heavy accent as she rose from her chair._

 _Miraak reached out and took her slender hands in his gloved ones, gazing into her eyes. "You…I wasn't expecting you."_

 _Lizette smiled wider. "My village had a fortunate crop this year, quite the surplus, so we've been able to mine quite a bit more as a result."_

 _"Meaning your quota was filled faster than usual."_

 _She nodded. "And our masters gave us the time and permission to celebrate however we saw fit." She smiled wider. "I decided to come see you."_

 _His heart ached warmly as he let out a small, elated laugh. "Liz…I've missed you."_

 _Liz threw her arms around his neck and drew close, whispering her answer against his lips. "And I you."_

 _Slowly, their lips met in a tender, loving embrace, their kiss deepening after a few moments as his gloved fingers tangled in her hair. A small, guttural noise came from the back of his throat as need filled his veins, and he drew apart, delighted at the swell of her lips and the faint blush staining her cheeks._

 _Miraak frowned. "Sahrotaar is coming soon, to check on the temple. I…don't have long, but…"_

 _Lizette gave him a catlike grin. "I'm sure we can find a way to pass the time."_

 _He burned up hotly, blood pumping through his veins like fire. "Then follow me, milady."_

 _He took her hand as she giggled, the pair hurrying back to Miraak's chambers and locking the doors as soon as they were inside. With a coy smile and sway of her hips, Lizette sauntered toward the bed with her back to him, slowly shedding one layer after another until only her smallclothes were left. Then she sat on the bed, palms pressed into the mattress, and grinned up at Miraak, who was standing and staring at her perfect pale form in stark admiration. The mind currently in the backseat, however…_

Ohhhh I really, _really_ do not want to see this.

 _"Well?" she asked, leaning forward slightly with a taunting smile, exposing quite a bit of cleavage. "Are you going to unwrap your present?"_

 _Miraak's answering growl was the only warning she got before he pounced, shedding his outer robe before he cleared half the distance, and the rest followed in a tangle of limbs, lips, and various…vocalizations._

Oh—gods—Father… _please_ just kill me now…

…

"So, what did we learn?"

Brelyna frowned in concentration and laid out the book she'd retrieved from Ragnvald. "The ritual I found is a recounting of the amulet's gifting to Otar. Apparently, the dragon and Otar had shared something of a bond, and not just as overlord and priest. As such, the Amulet of Riving was a conduit by which they could contact and locate each other," she tipped her head to Valerica, "as you suspected." She nodded at the book. "This formula gives us a surefire method of locating the amulet." She frowned. "However, the primary ingredient isn't one I think I can find."

Serana frowned. "How so?"

Brelyna looked up at her. "Because it's a dragon."

Everyone's eyebrows shot upward.

"Here, it says that, 'only the blood of Dolotlah can guide one to the amulet.' That's the name of the dragon." She threw her hands up. "Unfortunately, we have no idea where to find him, and even if we did, he'd have to be alive, or at least fresh, to get a good blood sample."

Valerica frowned in concentration. "Not necessarily. If we harvest his bone marrow, it may achieve the same effect."

Brelyna pointed at her. "Yeah, that could work."

"The only question is where to look," said Serana.

"I…might have an idea about that," Agmaer said, raising his hand.

All eyes were suddenly on him.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Uh…on the same day you guys left for Solstheim, I was approached by a woman claiming to be one of the last Blades."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "So Delphine _did_ contact you."

He nodded. "She tried to convince me to join up with them as a dragonslayer, and I said I'd think about it. One thing she mentioned is the fact that she's been surveying ancient dragon burial mounds to find out which ones have already been resurrected. We could go to her and find out where Dolotlah was buried, and whether or not he's out there. If not, we dig up the grave and harvest the bone marrow. If so…well…" he rubbed the back of his head, "I'm not sure _what_ we'd do then."

"I am."

All eyes turned to the speaker, who thus far had been silent.

Bard answered their perusal by pushing off the wall he'd been standing against and moving toward their table. "Dragons answer the call of their name when it's declared with the Voice. All you need is someone versed in the use of the _Thu'um_ to speak Dolotlah's name, and he'll come to you."

Brelyna frowned. "How do you know that?"

Valerica interrupted. "More importantly, how does that help us when the only person we know fits that profile is in Solstheim?"

"Wrong," he replied with a shake of his head. "You have a whole _group_ of such people who are quite a bit closer."

Serana's eyes widened. "The Greybeards. Do you think they'd help?"

"If they know you're allies of the Dragonborn, perhaps. But they will likely ask for assurances."

"Of what sort?" asked Valerica.

Bard frowned. "The Greybeards are pacifists at heart. They may have assisted Ketar in gaining the power to slay dragons, but that doesn't mean they approve of it. If you are to utilize their talents and likely their home to summon this dragon, they may oppose any aggressive actions you take toward it."

Brelyna's lips pursed. "Well, to be fair, we won't be looking for a fight, just a small bit of blood."

Bard's arms crossed. "And you think a proud dragon will be willing to give that up so easily?"

She sighed. "Maybe not, but we have to try. That amulet is too powerful to leave in the wrong hands."

He nodded slowly. "Just as long as you know the risks."

The Dark Elf nodded, then shifted her attention to Serana. "What about you guys?"

Here, Bard interjected. "I'm going with them to Solstheim. Our mutual person of interest fled to a secondary laboratory there. Based on what she wrote in the journal we recovered, she intends to exact vengeance on her former master, a Dunmer wizard named Neloth."

"Why?"

"Because he let her die," Serana answered. "Or, at least, that's the way she sees it. Truth be told, I wouldn't be surprised if she was right."

"…let her…die?"

She sighed. "It's a long story. Suffice to say there's a magical rock in her chest that's beating her heart for her." She frowned. "Indefinitely."

"It also gives her a psychic connection to and control over 'Ash Spawn,'" Bard continued. "She intends to summon an army of them and raze Tel Mithryn to the ground."

"Which," Serana interrupted, "honestly I might be okay with if I didn't know she won't stop there." Her lips pursed tightly. "Embittered people like her never do."

"So you're going to Solstheim," said Agmaer, "we have two places to hit up—or maybe just one—and a scavenger hunt to engage in. Anything else?"

A quick look was exchanged around the table before Valerica stood up. "If that's all, then let's all get some rest. We'll move out in the morning."

Serana nodded and ambled off like the rest of them, making her way toward the stairs to Ketar's bedroom and pausing at the bottom. A frown creased her lips as she hesitated, somehow feeling guilty over wanting to use his bed. Before she could decide either way, she felt a presence come up behind her and turned to come face-to-face with Lydia.

"…hey," she said softly.

Lydia nodded to her. "Hey."

They stood there in silence for a while before the housecarl sighed.

"I overheard your little meeting. You're going back to Solstheim?"

"Yeah."

"…are you going to find him?"

A sigh. "I think he'll be a little too busy trying to prevent the end of the world to deal with this. But…maybe after."

Lydia's arms crossed. "And then what?"

Serana frowned at the floor. "And then…I don't know. It'll take us about two days to get there, so…I'll have plenty of time to think."

The other woman nodded slowly, chewing her lower lip and looking off to the side. "I hope…" she sounded hesitant, "I hope you didn't mistake my meaning earlier."

Sera blinked. "What?"

"What I said…when I put my hand through the wall."

Another slow blink as she briefly shifted her gaze to the still-perforated wood. "Oh."

Lydia met Serana's eyes earnestly. "I care about you…a lot. You're…probably the closest female friend I have." Her lips pursed tightly. "But ultimately…if it ever comes down to you or him…I'm going to choose him."

Serana smiled ruefully. "Yeah. That makes two of us."

Lydia smiled a little, nodding slowly. "Glad to hear it." She sighed and pulled Serana into a tight embrace. "You take care of yourself, okay?" Lydia grinned as she drew back. "No one gets to kill you but me."

Serana chuckled warmly. "Of course." She turned for the stairs and climbed halfway up before calling down, "Good night."

"Night."

The vampire hesitated at Ketar's door once more before pushing it open and slinking under the covers. She tossed and turned for the better part of an hour before realizing one of the reasons Ketar hadn't slept well before meeting her. This bed was far too big to hold just one person. Lying on her back, she looked over at the thick pillow he always kept on his side and bit her lower lip. Immediately, her hand reached over and snatched it up, held lengthwise against her chest as she rolled onto her side and cuddled it. Her nose pressed into the silky fabric of its case, a long draw of air taken in that smelled of pure _him_.

It simultaneously soothed and pained her, so much so that she cried herself to sleep for the second time that week.

…

That was…one of the single most traumatizing experiences of my _life_.

 _A distinctly different thought than what was going through a post-coital Miraak's head as he stared down at his slumbering lover. Her naked body was (thankfully) concealed under his covers, his fingers drawing them up more tightly around her as he climbed out of bed and retrieved his discarded robes. Sighing, he was about to throw his mask on when something in the back of his head tugged at his consciousness, an all-too-familiar feeling to both of them. The mind currently in the backseat reeled when Miraak's hands stretched out before him and mimicked a similar pattern to what happened when Ketar opened his rift._

 _However, on the clockwise rotation of his arms, instead of pulling something out, he pressed his palms together and drew himself_ in _. As a result,_ Miraak _was carried through the rift to the other side, where he came face-to-face with a familiar gold environment. An equally familiar gold-armored form materialized from the Aether moments later, causing Miraak to arch a questioning eyebrow._

 _"You called, Father?"_

 _Akatosh nodded gravely. "I did." A smirk. "Seems you've been enjoying yourself quite a bit lately."_

 _"It helps when I have someone standing beside me." Miraak grinned wolfishly. "Or lying under me."_

 _Akatosh snorted ungracefully. "Oh yes, Mara's been quite_ explicit _about that. Even Zenithar lent a hand after that nasty business with the Rieklings."_

 _Miraak frowned in question. "Wait…was_ he _the one who provided Lizette's surplus?"_

 _A laugh. "Got it in one." His smile faded slowly. "However, that isn't why I called you here."_

 _And like that, the First Dragonborn was all business._

 _"Sahrotaar's surprise visit is not coincidence. After the Riekling uprising last month, he is, shall we say…_ unsure _of your competence when it comes to governing Solstheim. It will be your job to convince him at this meeting today."_

 _Miraak nodded slowly. "I understand. Anything else I should know?"_

 _Akatosh's lips pursed briefly, as if he were undecided about something, before his features shifted and he smiled warmly. "No. Just continue as you have been for now."_

 _He huffed impatiently. "How much longer must I maintain this façade, Father? Alduin's influence and control grows more ironclad by the day. We_ must _strike soon, or we will never dethrone him."_

 _"And we shall," Akatosh assured him with a hand on his shoulder. "But you need to be patient. Making a rash decision when already under such close scrutiny could compromise everything you've built thus far. Your time will come, son. Trust and believe that."_

 _A long sigh was exhaled before Miraak smiled and patted the hand on his shoulder. "I do. Thank you, Father."_

 _Akatosh smiled back. "You are very welcome. Now, do try to make a good impression."_

 _Miraak snorted and puffed his chest out smugly. "When do I ever not?"_

 _His only reply was a chuckle and a portal back to Nirn._

 _As expected, once Miraak returned, not a moment had passed, leaving him with about five minutes to get to the temple's great hall. His mask was donned a moment after he materialized, the almost claustrophobic feeling juxtaposed against the level of security he felt with his features concealed. After all, if Sahrotaar couldn't see his face, he would never know the depths of Miraak's hatred for him. Thus, it was with a small sigh that Miraak seated himself on his priestly throne, one hand clenched into a fist on its armrest while the other was braced at a ninety-degree angle by the elbow, his hand hovering near his face in an almost bored display._

 _He didn't have to wait long before he heard the voluminous flapping of wings, a small rumble sounding from just outside the massive doors of the great hall a moment later. Miraak's fisted hand uncurled just enough to wave his fingers to the guards manning the gate. A small shock ran through the mind observing from Miraak's body._

Those two…their faces…they were the Draugr I killed in this temple.

 _Come to think of it, this was the exact same room he'd been in during that fight, but with some significant changes, not the least of which the massive double-doored gates that led to an open courtyard. It was from that courtyard that a gigantic, black-scaled form emerged, ambling into the great hall and making straight for Miraak's throne. Upon closer inspection, Ketar realized exactly why this dragon looked so familiar: Sahrotaar was the same serpentine dragon he'd seen Miraak riding when they first met. Speaking of whom…_

 _"Miraak," the dragon greeted evenly._

 _The man in question briefly grit his teeth and rose from his chair with a small bow. "Lord Sahrotaar. This is most unexpected. If I'd known you were coming, I would've prepared a feast."_

 _"You may dispense with the pleasantries, priest. I think you know exactly why I'm here."_

 _Miraak sighed hard. "The Rieklings gathered their forces much faster than we anticipated."_

 _"And as a result sabotaged our supply train of Stalhrim. They set our work back_ weeks _."_

 _"A fact I am aware of, and have spared some of my own men to pick up the slack."_

 _"Your feeble attempt at concealing your failure is noted, but I'm afraid that's simply not enough this time. I want you to send a contingent of men—led personally by you—to wipe out the Riekling horde. They have become far too much of a nuisance to be allowed further respite."_

 _Miraak tensed up. "Milord, if I may, it is precisely this attitude that makes them fear us and dedicate so much of their time to opposing our operations. If we were to negotiate with them—"_

 _"_ Dovahhe _do_ not _negotiate," Sahrotaar growled. "They_ command _, and their inferiors listen and_ obey _." The dragon's reptilian eyes narrowed as his head drew dangerously close to Miraak's body. "A fact_ you _would be wise to remember."_

 _Miraak's fists clenched at his sides, every fiber in him aching to show Sahrotaar exactly who was "inferior." Still, his conditioning kicked in and he relaxed as best he could, just managing to keep his anger in check and out of his voice. With a stiff bow, he uttered, "It shall be done, milord."_

 _"Mire?"_

 _Miraak's eyes widened behind his mask, heart launching into his throat as he and Sahrotaar turned abruptly to the bleary-eyed form that had just shuffled into the great hall._

 _Lizette's green eyes widened in surprise and no small amount of fear when she realized what she'd just done. "I—I did not know you were occu—"_

 _"Who_ dares _?" growled Sahrotaar, the dragon stalking toward Lizette's trembling form._

 _"She is a servant girl, milord," said Miraak, thinking quickly. "A new one, unused to your visits. She still has a great deal to learn."_

 _"Indeed," Sahrotaar sneered, casting Miraak a glance, his vision flickering between him and Lizette. "Though I must wonder, why exactly would you hire a servant girl when the rest of your staff is male?"_

 _Miraak thought fast, his unease rising with every moment. "Her…constitution is such that she cannot toil strenuously in this extreme cold. The warm halls of this temple suit her much better, so her parents pleaded with me to take her."_

 _"Oh really? She appears quite healthy to me."_

 _Miraak's jaw clenched. "Appearances can be deceiving, milord."_

 _"Hm," he replied absently, returning his attention to Lizette. "All the same, she showed blatant disrespect and disregard for decorum, and must be punished accordingly."_

 _He placed a hand on his chest. "I will see to it personally once you've departed."_

 _"You needn't bother. I will oversee her discipline myself."_

 _Miraak's blood froze. "Milord…that is completely unnecessary. I will take care of this, you have my word."_

 _Sahrotaar whirled on him. "You_ dare _question my orders?!"_

 _Sahrotaar's voice boomed and echoed throughout the great hall, vibrating through Miraak's very bones as he fought to keep his composure._

 _"Of course not…milord."_

 _"Then sit back down and be_ silent _." The dragon turned to one of the gate guards. "Guard! Tie this wench to a pillar and ready a whip. She must be made to learn the price of meddling with her betters."_

 _Miraak's eyes darted from the uncertain guard to Lizette, who looked every bit as terrified as she should've been. His mind raced as he tried to figure a way out for her,_ any _way out. Seeing none, he released a ragged, shuddering breath, sending her a desperate look, pleading for her forgiveness as he sat back on his throne. He prayed she could understand it. He forced himself to remain upright and stoic, instead of slumping over, head in his hands like he wanted to._

 _The guard had already bound Lizette's hands together and above her to one of the pillars' hooked tops. Her arms were drawn above her at a painful tightness, per Sahrotaar's orders, and the dragon himself was looking on with a quiet, sadistic pleasure as the hesitant soldier readied the whip._

 _"Let your strokes fall fast and hard," uttered the dragon as he cast a glare at Miraak, "as our vengeance will on any who impede us."_

 _The guard looked desperate to escape his orders, looking to Miraak for something,_ anything _to stop him._

 _"Look at her, not him!" Sahrotaar boomed. "Am I not his master?"_

 _"Y-Yes," the young man stammered._

 _"And do you not answer to me above him?"_

 _"…yes."_

 _Sahrotaar growled in the man's ear. "Then cease your trifling and_ get on with it _!"_

 _The guard gulped slowly. "Yes, milord."_

No…gods no. Please don't do it.

 _The soldier raised his whip. Sahrotaar gave a nod of affirmation. Miraak met Lizette's terror-stricken eyes._

Miraak, no!

 _The whip fell with a_ crack _._

 _And stopped halfway to its target when its end coiled around Miraak's gloved fingers. The responses from the other three were as mixed as he'd expected. Specifically, the guard dropped the whip's handle in shame and abject relief, Lizette gasped and cried in shock._

 _And Sahrotaar fixed Miraak with the single most hateful look he'd ever been given._

 _"You will not touch her," growled Miraak. He threw the whip aside and readied magic in both his hands. "You will_ never _touch her."_

 _"Mire," Lizette breathed behind him._

 _"And so, the truth comes out," Sahrotaar scoffed. "The indomitable Lord Miraak—made weak by the wiles of a_ woman _."_

 _"Love is not something you understand, is it?" Miraak snarled._

 _Sahrotaar's expression was somewhere between rage and the same sadistic glee he'd shown earlier. "Very well. You may keep the wench untouched…for now." He snarled, ambling toward the exit. "But mark my words,_ zaam _—this insult will_ not _go unpunished."_

 _Miraak never took his eyes off the overlord until he took off into the distance and the guards barred the gates shut. Then, he released a massive sigh of relief, tore his mask off, and immediately set about cutting Lizette down; crying profusely the whole time._

 _"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry, my love."_

 _Finally, she was free, at least from the rope holding her hands up, and threw her arms around his neck as he buried his face in hers as he held her almost tightly enough to bruise._

 _"Mire," she cried, "Mire, what happens now?" Lizette pulled away, fearful tears in her green eyes. She gulped hard. "I am not ungrateful for what you did, but what of the consequences? What will happen to us? To you?"_

 _Miraak's lips pursed tightly as he cast a long look at the closed gates, Sahrotaar's promise at the fore of his mind. He returned his gaze to his lover and smiled confidently. "Don't worry, Liz. I have a plan."_

…

The journey to Windhelm was a long one in the winter, seeing as how all the roads were completely snowed over. Thankfully, Serana and Valerica had Stormbreaker, and Bard was doing just fine slogging through the snow. Like his armor, the elements never seemed to slow him down in the least. A fact Valerica took immediate notice of.

"Quite the strong body you have, Mister Gorshun."

He smirked and tipped his head slightly. "You flatter me. And please, call me Bard."

Valerica laughed heartily. "As you wish, Bard."

Serana cast her mother a suspicious look.

"Tell me, does your master ever give you time off? Or are you all work and no play?"

"Zhanikan is a generous lord, to say the very least. And as his closest friend, I've known from the beginning that if I wish for time to myself, I need only ask." He frowned a little. "However, our current work is far too important to leave untouched at the moment."

"All the same," Valerica continued, "I think it would do you some good to loosen up, at least for a night or two. Live a little." She smirked at him devilishly. " _Play_ a little."

Serana's eyes immediately went double-wide as she threw her mother a downright _horrified_ stare. " _Mother_!"

To her substantial surprise, Bard simply chuckled in response. "While I'm flattered by the attention, I'm afraid I'm a married man. And happily so."

"Ah," Valerica sighed. "A pity." She smirked again. "Can't blame an old woman for trying."

" _I_ can," Serana grumbled.

Her mother cast her a reprimanding look. "Now, now, Serana; you can't judge me for this."

"Oh yeah? And why not?"

She sighed. "Because while we may both have spent the last thousand years celibate, unlike you—" her eyes flickered with a wild hunger, "—I spent them _awake_."

Serana's replying expression was still abject horror, the girl forcing herself to focus on the road and nothing else as she gulped at the awkward air surrounding their party. Her relief was palpable when the parapets of Windhelm came into view. It was barely five minutes before she was on the deck of the _Northern Maiden_ , discussing cabin arrangements with the captain.

"So the two ladies will be set up in my cabin."

Valerica cleared her throat behind Serana. " _One_ lady."

Sera blinked hard, whirling toward her mother. "Wait…you're not coming?" At her mother's silence, she took a step toward her. "Why?"

Valerica smiled conspiratorially. "Because my work here is done."

"I-I don't understand."

Valerica grasped her daughter's hands. "Dearest…when I contacted you about the missing artifact, I felt something…off about your emotions. And the next morning, when you told me you were coming, that feeling had intensified."

Sera stared at her. "You didn't ask me here to help track down the artifacts, did you?"

She smiled and shook her head. "If that was all it was, I could've taken care of this on my own, with the kids' help. But when I felt the turmoil running through your mind over our connection, I _had_ to know what that was. Now I do, and I've said my peace." She smiled wider and drew back. "And _you_ have a great deal to think about over the next few days."

Serana nodded slowly, drawing her mother into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Mother."

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Serana." As she pulled away, she turned to Bard, who was packing away his own provisions with the help of the sailors. "You."

The werewolf arched an eyebrow at her.

"Take good care of my daughter, you hear?"

He placed a fist over his heart in salute, bowing his head. "I will guard her with my life, as if she were my own child."

Valerica smiled and nodded. "Good enough for me." She looked to her daughter. "Good luck, Serana. I love you."

"I love you too, Mother."

…

 _It was with a racing heart and considerable uncertainty that Miraak returned to his chambers and opened his rift again, pulling himself into a time rift._

I've _gotta_ figure out how he does that.

 _To both of their great shock, the atmosphere on the other side was…_ dark _. Literally so. Compared to the near-blinding gold they'd seen of Aetherius up to then, to have the light of Akatosh's realm fade to a gentle orange was a complete and utter shock. They didn't have long to wonder before Akatosh appeared._

 _And he looked_ pissed _._

 _"Do you have…_ any _idea what you've done?" seethed the Aedra lord._

 _Miraak's eyes widened. "Father, I—"_

 _"You overstepped your position, openly insulted Sahrotaar, and completely blew your cover!"_

 _"He was going to hurt Lizette!" Miraak fired back. "I couldn't stand by and watch her being tortured, for Shor's sake!"_

 _Akatosh smirked derisively. "Is that so? Tell me, is that the only reason you stepped in?"_

 _"…why else?"_

 _His head shook slowly. "Oh, son…you forget that I've raised you from birth. I know your heart, know_ you _, far better than you know yourself. I know how you've chafed under Sahrotaar's lordship, how he's hurt and humiliated you time and again. Do you really mean to tell me that you only stepped in to defend your lady's honor, and not take vengeance for all that?"_

 _Miraak made to protest the claim, but closed his mouth before he could say a word._

 _Akatosh nodded. "That's what I thought. And for that childish, petty reason, you've endangered everything we've worked so hard to build."_

 _His lips pursed. "Whether I wanted vengeance or not, the fact is that Lizette was in danger."_

 _"Of being hurt, yes. Of dying, no. She would have survived, and become stronger for it. Instead, you recklessly intervened and put her in even_ more _danger."_

 _Miraak's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"_

 _Akatosh sighed hard, running a hand over his face. "Foolish, foolish boy. Did you even stop to consider the course of action Sahrotaar might take as a result of this? To their knowledge, you are a powerful battlemage and a talented administrator. You're an investment for them, and a sizeable one at that. As such, he won't lay a hand on you unless you make him. No, he'll come after_ her _, to teach you a lesson the same way he'd intended to do to her: conditioning through pain._

 _"If you resist, he'll come after you with everything he has. And even if, by some miracle, you manage to defeat him, word of your rebellion will spread among the dragons, and they'll_ all _come to your doorstep sooner or later."_

 _"Then_ help _me!" he pleaded. "Give me my birthright. We can finally commence our war with Alduin and put an end to his tyranny once and for all!"_

 _Akatosh's eyes widened just slightly, enough to show the whites, before his entire body exploded in an amorphous cascade of golden light—that grew. Within seconds, the cascade coalesced into the winged form of a golden dragon, larger and more regal than any the Dragonborn had ever seen. And when he spoke, power laced every single booming word._

 _"You dare make demands of_ me _?! Need I remind you that it was_ your _ego and impulsiveness that put you in this situation to begin with?!"_

 _It took Miraak a few moments of silence to realize he was shaking like a leaf. He hadn't trembled before a dragon since he was six years old._

 _"You abandoned my council, endangered our plan for Alduin's defeat, and doomed an innocent woman to death—or at the very least life as a fugitive—and you expect to be_ rewarded _for this?!" The great dragon's eyes flashed with literal fire. "You forget your place,_ Dov-ah-kiin _. This 'war,' as you call it, shall begin in_ my _time, and in_ my _way, not yours."_

 _"But I'm ready_ now _!" Miraak shouted._

 _"No, my son. Your decision—and continued insistence on defending it—have_ overwhelmingly _proven you are_ not _. You will stand down, submit yourself to Sahrotaar, and reestablish your cover."_

 _Miraak huffed in disbelief. "That won't save Lizette from him."_

 _"No. It won't."_

 _"He'll_ kill _her."_

 _"He will."_

 _"And you expect me to just let that happen? I cannot let an innocent woman pay for my mistakes."_

 _"And yet, that is exactly what will occur. Don't you get it? The innocent_ always _pay along with the guilty. That's the price of such irresponsible decisions."_

 _Miraak fell to his knees in submission. "Please, Father._ Please _just help me save her."_

 _Akatosh stared at him for a while before slowly morphing back to his less intimidating humanoid form. "I will, but not with power; with a little piece of advice."_

 _He looked up at his father. "Tell me."_

 _Akatosh's jaw tightened briefly. "Send her away."_

 _Miraak felt his heart drop. "…what?"_

 _"Send Lizette away, somewhere far away from you, where she can start over. Somewhere Sahrotaar will never think to look."_

 _"But…that won't guarantee her safety. He could_ find _her."_

 _"Yes. He could…and he would only keep her alive long enough to make you watch her die." He frowned. "But, if she remains here with you, with her family…she_ will _perish."_

 _Miraak looked and felt_ broken _, tears freely pouring from his eyes._

 _Akatosh stared at him a while longer before his features softened and he drew closer. "I'm sorry, son. Truly, I am." He knelt in front of Miraak, placing his hands on his shoulders. "But there are consequences for your actions, and you_ must _learn to deal with them. If I could intervene in every matter on Nirn, Alduin would already have been defeated. But I can't. I_ need _you, son. You're the only hope this world has to finally know peace, so that people like Lizette_ won't _have to fear angering a capricious tyrant like Sahrotaar." His grip tightened. "So if you love her, please…send her away. Hide her somewhere far from his gaze. It's the only way to save her."_

 _Gently, Akatosh helped a despondent Miraak to his feet, the Dragonborn wiping his eyes on his robe's sleeve._

 _"Be strong, son," said the Aedra. "The road will only get harder from here, but I promise, if you endure…" he smiled warmly, "you_ will _find peace, and reward beyond anything you can imagine." Akatosh pulled Miraak into a tender embrace, holding him there for a while. "I love you, son."_

 _Miraak's only reply was silence._

 _Immediately after he exited the rift, he began trudging his way back to the great hall, where the guard who'd nearly been forced to whip Lizette was watching over her as she ate. He doubted she had much of an appetite. Halfway there, he came to a crossroads between two hallways. One led to the great hall and a lonely future without his lover. The other…_

 _The other he took after only a moment's consideration._

 _Miraak made his way down endless flights of spiral stairs, to a locked storeroom whose doors were lined with heavily armored guards. They stepped aside with a respectful nod to their lord, unlocking it for him and permitting him inside. The room was filled with tomes, spellbooks, and magical items that had all been personally catalogued by him and locked away due to their inherent danger. In one section of the room, however, there was something else: a switch in one of the bookcases lining a far wall that opened a secret passage behind it. The passage led down another set of spiral stairs, to a room dimly lit by a sunbeam reflected down through a dozen different rooms. That beam illuminated a single object sitting on top of an altar._

 _An object with a black cover, and an all-too-familiar sigil on its front._

 _Miraak slowly opened its pages, his mask covering his features, and read the first page of_ Waking Dreams _, the very same words Ketar had read a week earlier. As expected, the ink came alive and sucked him into the book, and he was transported to the same massive platform where Ketar had confronted Miraak. This time, there were no Seekers or dragons, only an empty expanse of bookcases and floating pages. And then they appeared: the dark pools in the sky, followed by the emergence of dark green tentacles and a monstrous array of eyes._

 _"So," said the creature in his usual sedated tone, "another seeker after knowledge enters my realm. Welcome to Apocrypha, library of all things secret and forbidden."_

 _Miraak immediately fell to his knees and bowed over. "Lord Mora…I know who you are. I know what this place is. I've hesitated to come here ever since I found your book, but…I don't have any other choice. Someone I love dearly is in mortal danger."_

 _"Hm…yes, you are in…quite the predicament."_

 _"If you know as much as I believe you do, then you know the answers I seek. Please…give me the knowledge and power I need to save her and destroy my enemies."_

 _"Knowledge…is gained by those who seek it. Power, likewise, must_ also _be earned. But to be_ given _both…comes with a price." Hermaeus Mora's many eyes blinked in alternation, creating a grotesque, hypnotic display of contemplation. "Tell me, Dragonborn…what are you willing to give for this prize?"_

Oh gods…this is it. This is…

 _Miraak bowed his head, his entire body, to the ground, his voice desperate but firm when he gave his answer._

 _"Anything."_

* * *

AN: Booyah! I'm getting faster on the draw with these. I'll admit, it slowed me down when I had to do the first flashback section. I wasn't quite sure how to start. Once I got the rhythm down, though, the rest was easy peasy. I've just been so slammed with schoolwork that I haven't had as much time to work on it as I'd have liked.

Once again, I don't want to say a lot about this chapter because I want you guys to pick it apart and tell me what you think. I will say this, though: Agmaer's fighting style with his crossbow was _heavily_ inspired by the "gun-fu" from Resident Evil: Vendetta and the John Wick movies. I really tried to capture the essence of that kind of fluid, ranged-close form of combat, which is _really_ difficult to do on paper. I hope I did it justice enough to be enjoyable.

Anyway, that's all I'll say on this chapter. I'm hoping to do some more over the next few days, especially since I should have quite a bit of free time on my hands, but we'll see.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Far Cry 3 – The Giant's Head: Agmaer vs. Draugr/fleeing Ragnvald

Dragon language translations:

" _Dovahhe_ " – dragons  
"Zaam" – slave


	11. The Corruption of Power

"I wasn't expecting you. Welcome."

Agmaer smiled at Delphine's greeting as he grasped her forearm. "I wasn't expecting to come so soon." He waved to his Dunmer companion. "This is Brelyna Maryon. She's a head researcher at the College of Winterhold."

Brelyna shook her hand. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," answered Delphine. She returned her attention to Agmaer. "So, have you reconsidered my offer?"

"Well," he replied, "I have given it a lot of thought, but that's not why I'm here."

The Blade frowned and motioned him over to a table and chairs. "Explain."

"Back when you were talking about recruiting me, you mentioned you conducted a survey of all the ancient dragon burial sites; which ones were empty, which ones were undisturbed, and which of the empty ones had already been slain."

"Okay, and?"

"Do you have any records on a dragon named 'Dolotlah'?"

Delphine frowned and stood up, making for a nearby bookcase and pulling out a heavy ledger. "Just give me a minute."

"Sure thing."

Agmaer looked around the room they were sitting in with absent admiration. Sky Haven Temple was a marvel of Akaviri architecture, something he could already see Brelyna fawning over, if the inquisitive look in her red eyes was any indication. The inside was dimly lit, and made even darker by the fact that it was comprised entirely of dark stone of various shades. One part in particular drew his eye: a relief sculpture carved into the entirety of a wall, made of midnight black stone. On it were various depictions of dragons and men, with the centerpiece bearing the visage of a regal-looking dragon and its right side an image of one man with a shield standing between another dragon and an entire village of people.

Just one look was enough to tell him he was staring at none other than the legendary "Alduin's Wall," mentioned to him only once by Serana.

"Found it."

Delphine's declaration snapped him from his musings. "Okay? And?"

The Blade frowned and sighed. "Empty. Not dead."

Agmaer and Brelyna sighed in tandem, exchanging a look.

"Then I guess we go to plan B," she said.

Agmaer nodded.

"Plan B for what?" asked Delphine.

Brelyna's lips pursed. "We're trying to find this dragon to get a sample of his blood. We need it as an ingredient for a locator spell."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

"The Greybeards," Agmaer answered. "If they Speak his name, it should summon him to wherever the call originates."

Delphine rose from her seat. "I'll come with you."

"Eh…I appreciate the thought, but given your history with the dragons, I don't think that's such a good idea."

She threw him a deadpan glare and crossed her arms.

Agmaer's lips pursed. "But…if it'll make you feel better, I can go as your emissary."

Delphine arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you accept my invitation?"

He smiled and nodded. "It does."

Her eyes sparkled with a glint of pure exhilaration. " _Excellent_. I'd love to oversee your training as a dragonslayer, but for now, your time with the Dawnguard should be training enough."

Agmaer cocked his head slightly. "Why's that?"

"Dragons may be several orders of magnitude larger than vampires, but when they're in flight, they can be nearly as difficult to hit. And just as fast, if not faster. If nothing else, being a vampire hunter probably taught you how to dodge. A lot."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it did."

Delphine gave him a wave. "There you go. Also, one more thing: your weapon."

"I uh, already have plenty."

"Not like this you don't. Come on."

She smirked and waved him toward a nearby supply room, Agmaer following behind and feeling his eyebrows climb upward when he saw the veritable arsenal this room contained. The walls and floor were lined with racks upon racks of weapons, from standard bows and steel daggers to axes of various materials. However, what immediately caught his eye—and Delphine made a direct line for—was a rack of ornate, curved swords of Akaviri style. The Blade lifted a katana from the rack in both hands, holding it horizontally and offering it to him. Agmaer frowned at the weapon, taking it and carefully drawing it from its sheath. He gave it a few experimental swings before his frown deepened and he sheathed it with a small shake of his head.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm just not feeling it."

"I'll admit the balance takes some getting used to."

"I mean that I usually use my axe in my main hand, and this weapon is too heavy for me to utilize effectively in my offhand."

Delphine's eyes brightened. "Well if that's the case, I think I know a good compromise." She reached out and returned the katana to its place, lifting a shorter sword from the rack and offering that one to Agmaer. "Try this one. It's called a wakizashi."

Agmaer took it and drew it in his left hand to test the weight balance with a few tentative swings. What he felt was… _amazing_. The weapon was _perfectly_ balanced, with just the right amount of torque and lack of resistance to not tire his wrist out too fast.

"This is…this is _perfect_."

Delphine smiled smugly. "Told you. And if all else fails, it's long enough to be used as your main weapon."

Agmaer nodded slowly, returning the wakizashi to its sheath and holding it awkwardly.

Seeing his trouble, Delphine reached out and took it from him. "Here, let me."

She uncurled a set of parallel leather straps on the sheath near the sword's hilt, tying them to the left of Agmaer's belt so the blade-edge faced downward. The effect was to anchor the sword in a slightly downward diagonal mounting so the blade ran along the back of his legs and the hilt was within easy reach of his hands at all times.

"Normally," she explained, "these are worn with the edge pointed up, but when you're in heavy armor, like you, it gets cumbersome to draw from that position."

Agmaer nodded slowly. "I'll put it to good use if I have to…though hopefully I won't."

She sighed. "The best sword _is_ the one that never has to be used, but…these days, that's just blind optimism."

"Thanks for your help, Delphine."

Delphine smiled and nodded. "Of course. After all, you're one of _us_ now."

…

Ugh…what's with this pain all of a sudden? It's like I've got a headache, muscle cramps, and a bruise the size of Whiterun all at once.

 _Shaking himself off—metaphorically speaking—Ketar's backseat mind refocused on the vision at hand: Miraak's great hall, a week after Sahrotaar's threat and his fateful visit to Apocrypha. He was sitting on his throne, with Lizette standing at his side and holding his hand. He gently pressed his lips to her fingers, looking up at her adoringly. She smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes, which were tinged with fear and worry._

 _"Hey," he said softly, "don't worry. Everything is going to be all right."_

 _The pronounced, earth-shaking rumble that sounded from just outside, along with the dull roar of what sounded like a hundred soldiers clanking in their armor, seemed to think differently. Miraak donned his mask as the sound of the approaching enemy became louder. The guards manning either side of the closed gate looked to Miraak in alarm, and he waved them away from the door just moments before a Voice was heard on the other end._

 _"_ Fus-Ro-Dah _!"_

 _Sahrotaar's_ Thu'um _blew the gates wide open, permitting him and a large contingent of armored Nords into the temple's great hall. Miraak felt Lizette's hand grip his tightly. Slowly, he released her hand and stood up, fists clenched at his sides as he puffed his chest out defiantly, his eyes never leaving that of his dragon overlord._

 _"I expect you to pay damages for that," Miraak taunted, indicating the shattered gates._

 _Sahrotaar's coarse laugh boomed through the space. "I always knew you were insolent, but never have I seen such open defiance."_

 _"It's about time_ someone _stood up to you, wyrm. Starting today, your reign of terror—and that of_ all _your deranged brothers—comes to an end."_

 _Another laugh, mocking and laced with malice, came from the dragon. "How arrogant you've become in a week of neglect. Allow me to remind you exactly who is the master here." His predatory gaze shifted to Lizette. "Take her."_

 _Immediately, the soldiers moved forward, Miraak's guards forming up to block their path but being tackled and shunted aside by a few while the rest continued on toward the throne. Miraak felt Lizette tense at his side, as well as a cool, malevolent glee surge through him as the column drew ever closer. It was when they were almost within weapon range that he took a deep breath in through his diaphragm._

 _"_ Fus— _"_

 _The soldiers stopped short at his Word, for just a split-second. It proved their undoing._

"—Ro-Dah _!"_

 _A wall of pure concussive force crashed into the soldiers like a rogue wave, catapulting every last one of them back across the room, several of their armored forms bouncing off Sahrotaar's serpentine body. As for the dragon himself, the look on his face was, well…_

 _"Priceless," said Miraak. "I've always wondered how wide your eyes would get." He grinned malevolently behind his mask. "And you didn't disappoint."_

 _"What trickery is this?!" demanded Sahrotaar._

 _"This is no trickery, wyrm," he replied, strutting down the stairs from his throne. "_ Zu'u kul do _Akatosh_ ahrk jul _,_ ok kroniid'haal _." He puffed his chest out defiantly. "_ Zu'u Dovahkiin _!"_

 _"To assume to title of_ dovah _! The arrogance!"_

 _"Gripe all you wish, Sahrotaar. I told you: you will not touch her, and if I must show you exactly who it is you're_ screwing _with to make sure you understand that, so be it!" He took a deep breath, power building inside him to an all-too-familiar fever pitch. "_ Mul-Qah-Diiv _!"_

 _Miraak's right hand shot to a sword at his hip, a shorter, curved implement of dark green stone and metal, its hilt and part of its thick blade wrapped in green tentacles. In the space where the center of the cross-guard should've been, there was a strange, opalescent stone. It took Ketar a second to realize it wasn't a stone, but an_ eye _. The very sight of it unnerved him, and apparently Sahrotaar's soldiers felt the same way, because they immediately started backing up._

 _"Cowards," the dragon snarled. "Fine. I will deal with this whelp myself."_

 _Sahrotaar coiled up and backed away from the throne, the two_ dovah _circling each other for a few moments. The dragon lunged forward suddenly, jaws snapping at Miraak's head but finding only empty air when he dove away and twirled his body in a clockwise motion, the blade of his sword flaring with sickly green light as he swung. During that swing, the tentacles around the hilt surged with magical energy, expanding along the length of the blade as the runes there flared with green light. The effect was one that stunned everyone in the room—and the mind currently trapped in Miraak's body: the sword's blade expanded to over four times its normal size, in a whip-like motion that lashed a deep gash into Sahrotaar's neck._

 _The dragon shrieked in pain, sluggishly recoiling from Miraak's attack and snarling at the Dragonborn with hatred burning in his eyes._

 _"_ Fo-Krah-Diin _!" Shouted Sahrotaar._

 _"_ Yol-Toor-Shul _!" returned Miraak._

 _Their Voices tangled in the air of the great hall, their magic combining to form a tempest of chaos that sent everyone else scrambling for cover. With a sudden surge of power from Miraak, his_ Thu'um _overpowered Sahrotaar's, a giant gout of flame pouring over the dragon like molten lava. The overlord screamed and thrashed about, lunging for Miraak with one wing's talon and finding it stopped midair by his unnatural sword. Sahrotaar's eyes went double-wide. The much smaller human was actually_ matching _him for strength. Miraak ducked under the talon, using his sword to shunt the strike aside and counter with a rising swipe to his neck that tore another gash parallel to the first._

 _"_ Fus-Ro-Dah _!"_

 _Miraak's Shout sent Sahrotaar's injured body flying back against a pair of pillars, cracking and nearly toppling them as the impact shook the temple to its core. The dragon tried to get up and resume the fight, but Miraak was relentless, swinging his sword over and over again, carving scores of deep cuts everywhere on his body, then following that up with a concentrated chain lightning spell that lanced through every one of them. The effect was a torturous torrent of agony reminiscent of what Lizette might've endured under the whip—which was exactly the point. By the time Miraak paused to take a breath, Sahrotaar could hardly move due to the pain, and only just enough to fix the Dragonborn with a fierce, defiant glare._

 _"Finish it…then," he hissed._

 _Miraak strode forward slowly, all eyes on him, as he placed his boot on the dragon's neck. He shifted his bloodied sword to an underhanded hold and held it high. Sahrotaar flinched when he dug it into the ground instead of his head, staring at Miraak uncertainly._

 _"You'd like that," Miraak snarled, "wouldn't you?"_

 _Sahrotaar's seething glare was his only answer._

 _The Dragonborn chuckled malevolently. "Unfortunately for you, I have no intentions of giving you such an easy out." His head cocked. "Point of fact, I want to show you something." He stepped back off his neck. "I want to show you the value of humility, of serving others rather than yourself. But more importantly—" Miraak's eyes flashed with fire, "—I want to show you exactly who is the_ master _here."_

 _Sahrotaar's eyes flickered with uncertainty and no small amount of fear._

 _Miraak just smiled._

…

"Do you have family?"

Bard's head snapped to face Serana.

"I mean," she continued, "other than your wife, of course."

He smiled and nodded. "A son. His name is Derek."

"That's a strong name."

He chuckled. "For a strong man. He's much like me, but…with his mother's disposition."

Serana smiled and sat back on a nearby barrel as the _Maiden_ traversed the waves. "No one else? Parents? Siblings?"

Bard's smile faded. "No. I was an only child. My mother died in the Imperial City, giving birth to me. My father…" he frowned, "my father died later." He looked over at her. "He was killed in the attack that infected me with lycanthropy." Bard released a rueful laugh. "It's funny. That actually happened not ten miles from where we're heading."

Her eyebrows shot skyward. "You lived on Solstheim?"

Bard nodded slowly. "I was born in Cyrodiil, but after Mother passed, my father couldn't stay there. Too many memories. So, we moved here. He was a centurion in the Imperial Legion and, when the time came, I followed in his footsteps. I was stationed in his unit when we were assaulted by werewolves. He, and about a dozen others, succumbed to their wounds after we repelled them. I just barely managed to say goodbye." He sighed hard. "And then, not three days later, I turned into one myself, infected by the monster that slew my own father."

Sera frowned deeply. "I'm sorry."

He waved her off. "It was a long time ago." He smiled a little. "And in the months of solitude that followed, I met Zhanikan." His dark eyes turned toward the gray, overcast sky. "I got a lifelong friend out of that raw deal, so…in the end, it turned out all right."

"But still…losing a parent like that…"

"Yeah."

They fell silent for a while until Bard took a deep breath and spoke.

"That's part of why I was so overjoyed when I met Telemnis, my wife. I knew she was the kind of person I could truly start a family with." Bard smiled wistfully. "And not a year later, Derek was born. My light and hope in an otherwise tumultuous time."

Serana tilted her head questioningly. "How so?"

His lips pursed. "There…was a coup. We'd been forced out of the capital city a year previous, by a powerful necromancer named Melekith. He cloned every soldier in the city using a forbidden necromantic technique that utilizes a special toxin. Those he didn't want were disposed of. Thousands were killed, and we were forced into hiding just to survive. Telemnis and her tribe of nomads were one of the few willing to take us in, and during all those trials…well, I think you can imagine."

She smiled and nodded.

Bard smiled at the sky. "Derek was the last push I needed to fight with everything I had, not just to regain what was stolen from us, but to conquer a land and a world where he could grow up free from the fear of such uncertainty."

"And you did."

He nodded with a small frown. "For a time, yes." He sighed. "But, as with all great goals, the fight is never truly finished. So, when the time came and he was old enough, Derek followed in my steps and joined the Heroes' Academy."

Her eyebrows hiked upward. "The _what_? You actually call it that?"

Bard smiled. "The threats that this world faces are more than mere soldiers can handle. It takes heroes, the subjects of legend, to make the difference needed."

"I know, it just…seems a little egotistical."

"A fair point, and some of them do fit the bill, but commitment to the protection of others is a trait we ingrain in them from the start. Very few ever make it through the program, but make no mistake, those who survive until graduation have _earned_ the title 'Hero.'"

Serana arched an eyebrow. "I take it _you're_ one of them?"

He chuckled. "You might say that. I'm often brought in to instruct those who wish to study advanced swordplay or hand-to-hand. And _only_ those advanced enough to keep up. One…side effect of my wolf blood is that it is…difficult to hold back in a fight, even in practice. If I were to engage a mere novice in a sparring match, things could get…dicey."

Serana chewed her lower lip. "You think Ketar could cut it?"

"In the ring with me?" Bard frowned. "Well…I'd have to see him fight to know for sure. If you mean the Academy in general, then yes. To have survived in his circumstances as long as he has, he could probably wipe the floor with most of our students."

She arched a questioning eyebrow. "And me?"

He smirked. "I'm not foolish enough to say no."

Sera threw him a deadpan look.

Bard's smile faded slowly. "Though…you do have an unfortunate tendency for hesitation that could impede your progress."

She frowned and tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, back in the alley, you had speed and strength on those men, even if you were still poisoned. Yet you waited for them to make the first move, despite knowing you were too sluggish to counter effectively."

"I was waiting for an opening, not an attack."

"Perhaps, but what about when your mother was fired upon by the caster?"

"I wasn't fast enough to get there."

"But you had a perfect gem focus in your belt capable of shielding her."

Serana's eyes widened. She'd completely forgotten—and how did _he_ know about it?

"And then there's the marriage proposal…"

She gaped outright. "Wait—hold up—how the hell do you know about _that_?"

Bard blinked and stiffened, staring blankly into the distance. "Um, well…"

Serana's gaze narrowed. "Wait a minute…were you _eavesdropping_ on us?"

He met her eyes for a moment before sighing hard. "I'd like to say no, because I don't think it's polite to do so during a private conversation."

"But?"

Bard arched a black eyebrow. "Pure werewolf hearing makes _not_ listening very difficult."

Sera frowned. "So…how much did you hear?"

He winced. "Enough."

She deadpanned. "You heard everything, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

Serana frowned at the deck of the ship, sighing hard.

"Have you given it any more thought?"

"Yes—I mean…" another sigh, "I've tried. I just…can't imagine building a life with someone and only having a few meager years to share it with them. It's so… _fleeting_."

Bard chuckled. "Welcome to the life of every mortal being on the planet."

Serana frowned. "I'm being serious."

He shot her a reprimanding look. "Oh, so am I." He tapped his nose with his forefinger. "Let me ask you something, and I want you to answer without qualification of any sort. Do you love Ketar?"

She stared at him blankly before answering with an emphatic, " _Yes_."

"Do you really, truly love him?"

Serana looked at him like he was an idiot. " _Yes_. More than _anything_."

"I don't think you do."

She blinked, eyes narrowing in reproach. "Excuse me?"

Bard crossed his arms and stared at her, lips pursed. "I don't think you do, because if you did, you'd understand the concept of putting _his_ needs before your own."

"…how dare you—"

"Putting off marriage, turning him down cold, and for _what_?" Bard's tone was nothing less than scolding. "For the fear that you'll lose him to the ravages of time? Let me tell you something: I was thirty-two years old when I met my wife, she a few years younger. Yet for all that, I knew I would probably outlast her due to my wolf blood. Did that stop me from loving her? From diving in headfirst, with no regrets? No. Why? Because when or how you lose the people you love wasn't my decision to make. All I knew was that I had time with her. Just how much was up to the gods.

"She could've been killed by famine, or disease, or one of Melekith's minions, but I swore I would never let that stop me from loving her with everything I had." He frowned deeply. "Because danger will always exist for the people we care about most, regardless of whether or not we keep them close. You're afraid of marrying Ketar because you don't want to lose a husband, but will not marrying him make you love him any less?" He fixed her with a piercing look. " _Will_ it?"

Serana gulped hard. "No."

Bard nodded slowly. "Then do you _really_ think losing him will hurt any less either way?"

Her eyes were downcast, voice barely above a whisper as she answered, "No."

His tone softened. "So what the hell are you waiting for? You're so terrified of watching him grow old that you keep forgetting he's still young. Only a _coward_ dies a thousand deaths, Serana…and I don't think that's you."

She remained staring at the floor.

"Consider this: you've rejected his proposal twice because you fear losing him to old age, yet that decision has fractured your relationship to the point where you can't even be _around_ him."

"What's your point?" she asked testily.

Bard snorted. "It just sounds to me like your reticence is killing your relationship _far_ faster than his mortality."

Serana stared at him with a frown.

"So…in the time between now and when you next meet, please…consider your words, and consider them carefully." He frowned and stood, turning toward the hatch below deck. "Because I get the feeling your next answer will decide the fate of your future together."

…

"And I have your word you won't attempt anything untoward?"

Agmaer placed a fist over his heart and bowed to Arngeir. "I give my solemn oath, on my honor as a warrior and a Nord, I will not draw unless the dragon turns aggressive."

The Greybeard looked him over appraisingly, eyes flickering to the wakizashi at his belt. "You are allied with the Blades, are you not?"

He sighed hard. "A recent development, as of today. However, the Blades are no longer hell-bent on eradicating every dragon in existence, but rather defending the people of Skyrim against the dragons who do them harm. Knights-errant, if you will."

Arngeir frowned deeply, thinking hard.

Brelyna cleared her throat and stepped forward. "If I may—Agmaer has saved my life more than once in the last twenty-four hours, and stood up for the Dragonborn when he needed him most. If Ketar trusts him with Serana's life…" she smiled, "then I trust him to do the right thing."

Agmaer burnt cherry-red at her declaration, forcing himself to focus on Arngeir and not the Dark Elf.

The old man stroked his beard. "Hmm…if that is indeed the case, then I suppose I must have a bit of faith myself…and not judge you by your affiliations alone."

Agmaer smiled and bowed his head. "Thank you."

Arngeir nodded back and waved them toward the back door of High Hrothgar. "Come this way. We'd best do the summoning outside."

The trio made their way to a large, open space just outside the monastery, situated on the side of a cliff with the Throat of the World on their right and a gated area on their left. The courtyard in between was clear save for the snow that littered the ground and sparse trees outlining the space. It was here that Arngeir took a breath and focused his Voice on the sky.

" _Do-Lot-Lah_!"

The Greybeard's _Thu'um_ boomed around the mountain, echoing across the howling wind and reaching across all of Skyrim itself. It wasn't twenty seconds later that a familiar roar was heard in the air, and a dark form could just be picked out against the white backdrop of a blizzard. Agmaer's fingers itched to at least hold the handle of his axe or crossbow, if not actually drawing it, but he held himself back to avoid even the appearance of deviation. Thus, it was with considerable tension that Agmaer and Brelyna stepped back when a dragon with deep burgundy scales touched down in the open space, sending sheets of soft powder flying in all directions.

It cast the three mortals one long look immediately upon landing. And it was not amused.

"Who _dares_ summon me to this frozen peak?"

Agmaer and Brelyna stared at the dragon for a few moments in shock.

 _The voice…is it…_

"You're a _female_ ," said Brelyna in shock.

Dolotlah cast the Dunmer a derisive glance. "Of _course_ I am. Is that such a shocking development to you?"

"Well, I…it's just that…"

"All the dragons we've met so far have been male," Agmaer finished for her.

The dragon snorted and tossed her head. "So you assume the same of me. How typical of the mortal mind." Her eyes locked onto the pair with intensity, causing them to jump. "And you still haven't answered my question."

"Excuse me, milady," said Arngeir, stepping forward, "but _I_ was the one who called your name." He bowed in deference. "I am Arngeir, a Greybeard and student of the _Thu'um_. By earth and sky, I welcome you to my home."

Dolotlah held her head high, a pleased glint entering her eyes. " _There's_ the courtesy I was looking for. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting to the point and telling me why I'm here; I _do_ have better things to do."

Agmaer almost felt embarrassed as he leaned toward Brelyna and whispered to her. "She sounds more like a fussy old _woman_ than a dragon."

Dolotlah's head snapped in their direction. "I _heard_ that."

"Eep!"

Brelyna cleared her throat sharply and stepped forward, a little paler than usual. "Um…we need your help. There's a magical amulet I believe you're familiar with, the Amulet of Riving, that's gone missing, taken by an unknown party. And we need a small sample of your blood to find it."

Dolotlah considered them carefully. "And why should I give it to you?"

"Is a little blood really that much to ask?" asked Agmaer. "We only need enough to fill half a vial."

"That is hardly the _point_. Why should I assist you in this at all? I have lived for _centuries_ , mortals, and I know your kind. You want the amulet's power for yourselves, do you not?"

"No," Brelyna protested. "We want to safeguard it. The amulet was stolen from a vault containing other dangerous magical relics, and we don't know who has it now. If it's someone dangerous, innocent people could be—"

"Feed me all the platitudes you desire, but I do not know you, and I do not know your worth. The one to whom I gifted that amulet, Otar, was a great man, one of the best. But even _he_ was driven mad by its power. Even if you are not corrupt power-seekers, how am I to know you will not succumb as well?"

Agmaer exchanged a look with Brelyna, rubbing the back of his head. "That's…a fair point."

Brelyna frowned. "Historical records on Otar claimed he was a fair and just ruler before he went off the deep end, but they never gave a reason. It was this amulet?"

Dolotlah nodded. "It was borne of the pain and suffering of a city consumed by necromancers, and the dark spirits that dwelt within had terrorized all of Skyrim through each of the amulet's bearers. Each time one died, it was found by another, and the cycle repeated. I thought Otar could block out their whispers and keep it safe, keep it away from anyone else. But he too was corrupted, and was perhaps the vilest host of them all." Her draconic features sagged in sadness. "My dear friend…fell so far."

Brelyna's eyes widened. "That's why you placed that locator spell on the amulet—so you'd always be able to track it down."

She nodded once more.

Agmaer frowned deeply, stepping forward. "I'm sorry, but if what you say is correct, and the amulet is in the wind, then that cycle is about to repeat once more. As a Dawnguard and a Blade, I cannot allow that to happen. Help us stop this thief and remove the amulet from the paths of others for good."

Dolotlah eyed him carefully, her appraisal focusing on his eyes. It sent a fierce chill down his spine, but Agmaer managed to hold her gaze firmly until she grunted.

"Very well," she conceded. "However, I have one condition."

Agmaer nodded. "Name it."

"I'm coming with you. This amulet destroyed Otar." She snarled. "I aim to return the favor."

Brelyna and Agmaer exchanged a look, the former speaking up. "Well, the more the merrier."

…

 _In the aftermath of Sahrotaar's defeat and imprisonment, Miraak stood in his throne room, surrounded by his guards, who had weapons trained on Sahrotaar's defeated soldiers. He looked down at them all, striding down the steps from his throne and taking an offered sword from Bril. He approached the soldiers' captain, standing face-to-face and hefting the blade to a vertical grip. It clattered to the ground a moment later._

 _"I have no quarrel with you, my brothers," said Miraak. "Perhaps some of you prefer being under the dragons' rule. Perhaps you believe yourselves blessed to be serving them. But most of you, I think, are here because you fear your masters." He paced across their ranks. "That fear is their_ true _weapon, a weapon that has for so long subjugated all of Tamriel to Alduin's tyranny. I aim to_ break _that weapon. With the power I now wield, we will command_ armies _of dragons raised against Alduin and the rest of his ilk. We can take the whole world back from his clutches._

 _"But I cannot do this without you." He stopped pacing and nudged the dropped sword toward the captain with his boot. "Take up your weapons and kneel. Swear fealty to me, fight for the future of humanity, and I will lead you to victory." He placed a fist over his heart. "This I swear, on my honor as Dragonborn."_

 _The captain exchanged a look with his men, staring into the unblinking eyeslits of Miraak's mask for a moment before reaching down to take the sword. He cast one last look at the now-former priest before falling to one knee, sword-point braced against the stones. The rest of his men followed moments later._

 _Behind his mask, now adorned with the horns and tendrils of his present self, Miraak smiled widely, feeling a confident heat spread throughout his chest. "Good choice."_

 _As if that hadn't been enough shocks for her for one day, not five minutes later, Miraak approached Lizette with his mask off and knelt before her with open affection in his eyes. Her own eyes went double-wide when she realized what he was getting at._

 _"Mire," she breathed, sinking back onto his throne._

 _"Liz…the only reason I've never asked before is because the dragons forbid their priests to marry. Sahrotaar is our_ prisoner _now. We no longer have to play by his rules."_

 _"But…Alduin…the others—"_

 _"Are just a matter of time. With the power I now possess, once word gets out about what I can do, other humans and mortals enslaved to the dragons will_ flock _to our cause. The fear they used to control our brethren will dissipate, and as their numbers fade, ours will swell by the thousands. And then we'll have created a world where people like us, like you and your family, will never have to fear angering a capricious warlord like Sahrotaar again." Miraak sighed. "But that's them. As for us…" he smiled and held out a golden ring with a ruby in its center, "I think we've waited long enough…"_

 _Lizette gaped, hands over her mouth._

 _"…don't you?"_

…

"Are we there yet?"

Agmaer grinned from ear to ear. "Why don't you open your eyes and find out?"

Brelyna's replying tone was nothing short of irritated. "I don't think Dolotlah would appreciate it if I hurled all over her back."

The dragon underneath them shuddered tangibly.

Agmaer patted her neck in assurance. "Relax, she's kidding."

"She better be," growled the _dovah_.

At present, Agmaer was having the time of his life. Who knew flying could be so simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating? Add to that the fact that Brelyna was holding onto him for dear life, and he was quite literally on cloud nine. His gloved fingers were interlaced with her bare ones, her grip tight against his gauntlets as the wind rushed past and around their bodies.

"Are we there yet?" Brelyna repeated.

"Almost," answered Dolotlah. "I can feel the amulet's energy increasing more rapidly now. It must be just up ahead. I'm going down for a closer look."

Agmaer held her hand a little tighter as her arm tightened around his midsection, a surge of protectiveness tightening his chest. They dove through the clouds, Brelyna pressing her face into Agmaer's back to avoid having to look down. Finally, the dragon leveled out and flapped her wings several times to slow down. Agmaer got a good look at the place they were approaching, staring blankly at a rocky crag strewn with boulders and brush.

"Looks like the amulet's energy is coming from that cave," stated the dragon as she descended for a landing. "Take care, you two. I cannot fit through that hole, and even if I could, I doubt I would be of much help in such close quarters."

"Don't worry about it," said Agmaer as he dismounted her neck. "We'll take it from here."

He reached out both hands to Brelyna, taking hers and catching her by the hips when she pushed off Dolotlah's neck. Agmaer lowered her to the ground a moment later, his hands lingering on her for a moment to make sure she kept her balance (or at least, that's what he'd tell her if she questioned it; she didn't).

"Thanks," she muttered, turning toward the dark mouth of the cave.

Agmaer smirked and drew his crossbow. "No problem. I'll go first."

Brelyna nodded in reply and readied a spell in each hand as they proceeded inside. She cast one of them, a shimmering turquoise barrier forming around her body, and formed up behind his heavily-armored form. The cave was empty, for the most part, save for various overgrowths of hanging moss and barnacles, seemingly a result of an underground spring of some sort. Less than thirty feet in, Agmaer's instincts started flaring up the same way they did before the Draugr attack in Ragnvald. His jaw tightened as he nervously fingered the trigger of his crossbow.

They proceeded through a passage that led deeper into the cave, into a gigantic spherical chamber with a small hole in the ceiling streaming sunlight in. A set of curving stairs led from their passage to the ground, and in the center of the room was a circular altar surrounded by various stone pillars.

"Lyn," Agmaer said quietly, "I don't like this."

She frowned. "I know what you mean, but we can't stop now."

"I know, I'm just saying…I don't like this at all."

They descended the steps quickly, cautiously making their way to the altar and checking every corner for movement. The moment they passed the final row of pillars, a loud crash sounded from the side, drawing their attention to a pitch-black corner of the room.

"Who's there?!" Brelyna called out. "We've come for the amulet!"

"You've come to die," hissed a voice behind them.

Agmaer whirled around, crossbow at the ready as he scanned the shadows for movement. His eyes finally caught sight of something peculiar, and he motioned for Brelyna to move around and flank it.

Her eyes went wide as soon as she got a clear look. "Oh gods—it's a hagraven!"

"Yesss," the creature hissed, "newly minted, newly born."

Agmaer grimaced as soon as the vaguely feminine creature with feathers and deformed limbs stepped into the light. "And ugly as all living hell."

It cackled maniacally, like a crow. "Small price to pay for such raw _power_."

Brelyna shuffled up next to him. "Agmaer—her neck."

His eyes drifted from the hagraven's black ones to her neck to see a silver-chained amulet with a light blue stone in its center. "Okay…you just hand us that pretty stone, and we'll be on our way."

"You take me for a fool, boy?" it asked reproachfully. "I know _precisely_ what this is. After all," her black eyes glinted in the fading sunlight, "I stole it from Lord Harkon, didn't I?"

Agmaer's eyes widened. "You were one of his vampires, weren't you?"

"My name was once Salonia Caelia," she replied. "A lackey to Vingalmo and pawn to further his ambitions. When he deserted the clan, I knew something was about to happen to change the playing field…so I got out, and took a little insurance with me."

"And you underwent a transformation into a hagraven," Agmaer added.

"To cleanse my blood of vampirism," she confirmed. "It had become…counterproductive to my goals."

"Which are?" Brelyna asked.

"To be master of my _own_ fate." Salonia's fingers flexed outward, claws extending from each of her fingers. "And destroy any who oppose me."

Agmaer smirked and snorted derisively. "Typical pup who thinks she's an alpha. Whatever. You were a vampire, and one of _Vingalmo's_ vampires at that. As a Dawnguard and a friend of Ketar Dov, I can't let you walk away just on _principle_. So just surrender and I'll make this quick."

Salonia just smiled.

Agmaer tilted his head briefly. "Suit yourself."

He depressed the trigger of his crossbow, firing a Dwarven bolt directly toward her heart from twenty-five feet away. Her hands moved like lightning, one of them gripping something in a fold of her belt and drawing it out. A split-second after the bolt was fired, it impacted a rapidly-formed wall of transparent sapphire energy, crumpling into a ball of golden metal.

Agmaer's eyes widened. "What the—"

The hagraven cackled and waved her other hand, sending a ball of fire streaking toward Agmaer. He dove out of the way, watching as it exploded against a pillar at his back and quickly snapping his attention back to Salonia.

"I already told you," she shouted, "you've come to _die_."

She waved the hand with the object—a gemstone, as he could see now—at the passage they'd entered from, and a similar barrier to the one she'd just conjured appeared to block it. Agmaer and Brelyna exchanged a panicked look, quickly refocusing their attention on the former vampire before them, who was grinning madly.

"And die you shall."

…

I can't…I can't tell how much time has passed, but this headache is _not_ getting any better. And neither are any of the other aches and pains.

 _As it happened, the statement applied to both time in the real world, and time in this strange memory sequence. Whatever the case, it appeared to have been a long stretch, because Miraak was sitting astride Sahrotaar, who, last Ketar had seen, was foaming at the mouth trying to take Miraak's head off. At present, Sahrotaar was stalking past rows of houses as various people bustled about, Miraak looking over them all appraisingly._

 _"You see this?" asked the Dragonborn. "This is how we start fighting back, by creating an infrastructure capable of self-sustaining_ without _the importation of the dragons' favor. You and the rest of yours believed us incapable of managing on our own, but I think that was only the case because we'd been so dependent on you for so long."_

 _Sahrotaar grunted. "Perhaps. But what difference will it make when more dragons come to burn what they've built?"_

 _"That won't matter. We'll beat them back, again and again."_

 _"You cannot be everywhere at once, Miraak. Sooner or later, you will fail them, and their resolve will falter."_

 _"I hardly think I need to take advice on ruling from a tyrant."_

 _"I may have been a tyrant, but my methods were effective. Just how long do you think your revolution will last when your soldiers refuse to follow orders?"_

 _Miraak scowled. "I think that's enough sightseeing for one day."_

…

 _Another time-lapse occurred, and Miraak was sitting in his throne room reading reports of various victories across Solstheim and Skyrim proper. Word of Miraak's power was spreading, and with it hope that Alduin's regime could be toppled. Even certain resistance leaders, "heroes" from Skyrim were starting to reach out and offer their services to advance the cause. Miraak couldn't help but smile at that. However, on this particular day, he kept feeling a tug in the back of his head that was rapidly growing into a headache. Sighing and knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Miraak set aside the reports and stood up, opening his rift and drawing himself inside._

 _He was immediately greeted by the same golden surroundings as usual, but the plane was even darker than last time. Darker, yet…somehow less harsh for it. Miraak wondered at that until he felt a presence behind him and turned to see Akatosh standing there, his armor's usual gleam dull and faded, and his expression much the same. There was no anger or frustration, only a morose sadness._

 _"So, Father," Miraak began, "what do you think of me now? Has my 'recklessness' brought about the catastrophe you so feared?"_

 _Akatosh took a deep breath and sighed wearily. "Not yet…but meddling with that book, with Hermaeus Mora…" His golden eyes stared intensely into Miraak's. "Whatever price you paid, son…it will be more than you know."_

 _Miraak snorted derisively. "You old fool. You're envious of just how much I've surpassed the person I was under your tutelage. I'm no longer under your thumb, subject to your machinations, and you're desperate to get me back. A master who is jealous of his apprentice's power…" he smiled nastily, "that's surprisingly_ human _of you."_

 _"Do not mistake my words, Miraak, or my intention. If you continue down this path, you will be consumed by your own folly. Perhaps not physically, but you will lose everything that makes you whole."_

 _Miraak snarled. "I_ saved _the one thing that made me whole! I did what you could not, what you_ would _not! I stood up to Sahrotaar and his masters, I rallied mankind under one banner! You should've seen the way these villages looked at me when I rode in to liberate them. The_ terror _in their eyes, as if they expected me to strike them down on a whim." His features twitched in pain. "They feared me because_ your _children had beaten them down and crushed their spirits into nothingness." He scowled. "Your way took too long, old man. This world needs hope, and I will give it." He waved at Akatosh. "You would wait until half of them have already_ burned _before you intervene."_

 _Akatosh's lips pursed tightly, his eyes hard. "Believe what you wish, Miraak, for you see but in a mirror darkly. I see all of time, every path, every possibility. I know what comes next for you, because for all your bluster, and all your power—you've doomed yourself. With every decision, there are endless branches of divergence, but for you…every single one of those branches leads to death…and you will drag all who follow you down into the abyss." He took a deep breath and stood straighter, shoulders broad. "Your actions have endangered countless lives that could otherwise have been spared, if you had simply waited a little longer._

 _"Thus, I can no longer associate myself with such a doomed mission." Akatosh's form once again exploded into the visage of a giant golden dragon. "Henceforth, Miraak of Solstheim, you are disowned of the house of Akatosh. As of this moment, your access to the rift has been_ cut _, as has your favor with me. Whether my siblings choose to aid you in the future is their decision; I will not stand in their way." His eyes flashed with fire. "But never again will you call on me…and expect an answer."_

 _"Fine by me," Miraak snarled in response._

 _"I hereby relinquish you to the care of your_ new _lord, Hermaeus Mora. Soon, I think…you will understand just how steep is the price of his favor."_

 _And with that, Miraak was forever banished from the realm of Aetherius._

…

 _It was after a long and bloody campaign against the dragon fortress of Yngol that Miraak returned home to a warm hearth and a hearty dinner. Bril was, as usual, the first to greet him at the door, and ushered him immediately to the dining area. His wondrously radiant bride awaited at the head of the table, her customary place after he insisted on it. He himself sat at her side, in the place of a servant, to symbolize his undying devotion to her both as her husband and her lord. Out on the field of battle, or among their allies, Miraak might've been a dominant force of nature, but in this house, at this table…they were equals._

 _The moment she saw him, Lizette broke out into a smile, though…it was somehow muted. Miraak frowned mentally, wondering at it, but didn't let it show as he smiled and kissed her lips._

 _"How have things been here, my love?" he asked._

 _Lizette smiled a little wider. "Quiet, thankfully. I suppose it's thanks to you that the enemy is so far from here nowadays."_

 _"I aim to keep trouble as far from your doorstep as possible, Liz." He smiled and stroked her hair. "It's the least I can do for such a beautiful light in my life."_

 _She laughed and reddened. "Ah you poor sap, you're making me blush!"_

 _Miraak grinned. "What can I say? It matches your hair."_

 _Lizette pouted and poked his nose, then giggled and waved him toward the table. "Come on. You must be famished from your trip."_

 _"I_ am _…for all sorts of things."_

 _She giggled again and wagged a finger at him. "Best control yourself until after dinner."_

 _Miraak nodded slowly, but when her back was turned pinched her behind sharply. Liz squealed and jumped away from him, blushing even harder at the lecherous grin on his face, then whacking him with her napkin before sitting down. All throughout dinner, through the laughs and quiet conversation, Miraak could feel a cloud hanging over Lizette's head, subduing her laughter and dampening her spirits. It was when they were finally full and feeling a bit drowsy that he finally worked it up to ask._

 _"Is something bothering you, love?"_

 _Lizette froze. "W-Why would you say that?"_

 _Miraak frowned. "Liz, you're my wife. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"_

 _She frowned and played with a braid of her red hair. "I…I've been…hearing things. Things about the war."_

 _He sighed and placed a hand on hers. "Try to put it out of your mind, love. Our enemies are powerful, but we gain in strength with every passing day. Just the other day, we—"_

 _"I'm not talking about them."_

 _He stopped short._

 _Lizette met his gaze with her intense green eyes. "I'm talking about you."_

 _Miraak searched her gaze, lips pursed tightly. "And what exactly have you heard?"_

 _"I…heard about an attack on one of our villages to the south of here, and one in Skyrim. Both were assaulted by dragons and nearly burnt to the ground to send a message. The survivors were so terrified they refused to work and produce for the war. You went there personally, and…the next day they toiled without complaint, as if driven by some unseen taskmaster." Her lips pursed. "Is that true?"_

 _"That they resumed their work after my visit? Certainly. I simply had a word with the village elders and convinced them it would be in their long-term best interest to continue supporting us."_

 _"…so you just spoke to them?"_

 _"Aye, of course. We don't turn on our own."_

 _Lizette's eyes narrowed. "Did you speak to them…or Speak to them?"_

 _Miraak blinked, his blood chilling. "I'm not sure what you mean."_

 _"You know_ exactly _what I mean, Mire. Everyone knows how you 'recruit' dragons to the cause. No one ever talks about it because, quite frankly, they fear suffering the same fate. So tell me, Miraak—what did you say to those people?"_

 _His jaw tightened for a moment before he answered, "I told them exactly what they needed to hear."_

 _Lizette's frown deepened as she nodded slowly. "I see." She took a deep breath, wiping her hands and rising from the table. "I'm sorry, love, but it appears the day has tired me more than I thought. I'll be going to sleep immediately. I'll take one of the servants' chambers, so you don't have to worry about losing sleep."_

 _In other words: "you need your strength for the war, so I can't make you sleep on the couch."_

 _Miraak stared at her agape, rising from his seat and reaching out for her. "Liz—"_

 _She drew back only slightly, but enough to stop him in his tracks. "I'm fine, really. I just need to sleep without distractions." Lizette strode away toward the servant quarters, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Good night, Miraak."_

 _Miraak's shoulders sagged as he muttered, "Good night, my love."_

…

 _Why? Why did it have to be_ here _, of all places? Their losses in Skyrim had been staggering, sure, but all was not yet lost. So why, of all the villages in Solstheim, did it have to be_ Lizette's _that rebelled?_

 _"Please, elder," he pleaded, "the supply of Stalhrim is important to the war effort. An arsenal of Stalhrim weapons enchanted with frost magic could turn the tide of our next critical battle."_

 _The man frowned deeply, arms crossed. "So you've promised, time and again, yet you have failed repeatedly over the past few weeks. What's more, the seeds of your failure have been sown for some time."_

 _"What exactly are you getting at?"_

 _"You've increased your influence and gone about conquering one territory after another, yet you failed to leave behind any infrastructure or support necessary to maintain the security of your new borders. As a result, your people have been left, in some cases quite_ literally _, out in the cold. Exposed to the elements and enemies that now surround them. You think they will be spared from the consequences of siding with you even if they surrender, much less continue to fight in your name?"_

 _A chill ran down Miraak's spine as his mind flashed back to a memory some months ago._

"Don't you get it? The innocent _always_ pay along with the guilty. That's the price of such irresponsible decisions."

 _His teeth clenched as he hardened his resolve. "They will weather the coming storm. If they do not, then they were too weak to have survived either way."_

 _The elder stared at him in horror._

 _"As for you and your village, you_ will _keep up production or_ yours _will be the head upon which these 'consequences' will fall."_

 _The older man bared his teeth. "You dare?! You may have declared yourself the 'Lord Protector' of humanity, but that was a unilateral decision I have_ never _approved of! The only reason I gave my daughter's hand to you in marriage is because I believed her a good judge of character." He scowled. "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I should've listened to my first instinct and pulled her away from you before you had the chance to drag her down."_

 _"Silence!" Miraak roared, everyone except the elder cowing in fear of him. "You prattle on and on about protecting Lizette, but who was there to step in when Sahrotaar ordered her whipped?! Who was there when the wyrm returned to take her life?! It was not the Skaal; it was_ me _! Before I came along, not a single one of you had the_ courage _to lift a finger against your overlords, yet when I falter just a little, you come crashing down on me like a pack of scavenging vultures!" He huffed and waved at them dismissively. "You're all a pack of cowards, and while I believe cowards have no place among the living, out of respect for my wife, I will continue to allow your existence. However…you_ will _play your part, even if I must_ force _the issue."_

 _The elder's eyes went wide as he glanced behind Miraak, the rest of the village fleeing from the enraged Dragonborn as Lizette's parents clung to each other._

Wait…this is it, isn't it?

 _Miraak took a breath and channeled the power within, unleashing his voice with two words. "_ Gol-Hah _!"_

 _A wave of the same multicolored energy Ketar had used on the All-Maker Stones surged forth from Miraak's throat, wrapping both Skaal in his_ Thu'um _. He could_ see _the light flee from their eyes, their countenances sagging and dulling in the same way the workers at the Stones had. It was, quite frankly..._ horrifying _to see. At least, the mind in the backseat thought so. The mind currently in control was all-too-used to it._

 _"Mire?"_

 _Miraak's blood froze in his veins, eyes doubling in width as he slowly turned around to see Lizette standing there, hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes. "Liz—I…"_

 _"H-How could you?" she whispered brokenly. "My parents…my family…"_

 _"I can explain—"_

 _"Get away from me!" She turned and fled, running off into the snow._

 _"Liz! Wait! Stop!"_

 _But she didn't. She didn't stop running all the way back to the temple, to the servant chambers she'd used weeks ago, a door that was locked to Miraak by the time he arrived._

 _And remained that way for months at a time._

…

 _It was over. The revolution was dead._

 _One after another, villages and towns fell to an unending horde of soldiers and their dragon commanders. No matter how many Miraak subjugated with his Voice, more just kept coming, until finally, his forces were pushed back to Solstheim, where they remained waiting for the inevitable axe to fall. His wife, his great love, refused to so much as speak to him, as she had for nearly six months. These days, Miraak spent his time brooding in the great hall of his temple, fists clenched, heart filled with bitterness and devoid of life. There wasn't much else left to do._

 _Perhaps he could've won, if he hadn't overextended his reach or perhaps looked for a smoother path to victory. But Miraak was a proud man, and never one to admit fault, even when he knew he should. At present, he was in one of his brooding moods, scowling blankly into the distance as the room sat in deafening silence. A twitch of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and his reflexes, sharp as ever, shoved him from the chair when a dagger flew out of nowhere to skewer his throne. Snarling, Miraak leapt from the pedestal, sword in hand, and dashed toward the source of the blade._

 _He wasn't halfway there before masked soldiers in full armor started pouring into the room from all directions, and a fierce chill ran down his spine as he realized just how badly he was outnumbered. Miraak twirled his sword and prepared a spell in his off-hand as his Voice carried through the space._

 _"_ Mul-Qah-Diiv _!"_

 _His ethereal armor in place, Miraak rushed toward the first of several soldiers to fall to his might, carving through their armor with his sword like it was butter and sending them flying into the stone walls and pillars of the great hall. His own guards began rushing from their places in the barracks, as they hadn't expected the enemy to ever infiltrate the temple undetected, but they too were vastly outnumbered. Still, for some reason, these would-be assassins weren't trying to kill the guards. It appeared their only target was him._

 _One with a spear scored a lucky hit on the back of his left leg, forcing him down to one knee, but his dragon blood sang with the power of its final aspect as he unleashed the spell in his left hand, a chain lightning spell that fried a whole cluster of assassins in their armor. His sword swung and spun again and again, its blade extending like a bladed whip and flaying the flesh from his enemies' bodies. A Shout of Unrelenting Force sent another dozen of them crashing back into a pile of flesh, bone, and broken metal. Miraak used their prone position to fire another burst of lightning and kill them all._

 _Finally, the tide was turning, and his guards were able to push their way to the front. The remaining assassins were quickly overpowered, save one, who was armed with a short sword and shield. Miraak waved his men back, and they took the hint, allowing their master to confront the assassin alone. His technique was impressive, excellently balanced and counter-oriented. With each slash of Miraak's sword, he ducked under or around, using his shield as a means of putting an extra barrier between him and the attacks. Miraak thrust his sword again and again, his lightning spells impacting the shield but having no effect due to the fact that the shield was made of some strange wood._

 _Finally, his aggressor countered and lunged for his chest, the point of his—was that_ Stalhrim _—sword nearly skewering Miraak through the heart. It was that overextension that proved his downfall. Miraak put his shoulder down, the enchanted ice blade skidding over his pauldron with the aid of his ethereal armor and leaving the assassin open to the pommel of Miraak's sword being planted in his gut. The armor caved in at that spot, and the assassin's disorientation was taken advantage of to swipe the sword from his hand, as well as the shield, and finish with an upward slash that took his helmet off._

 _Miraak's eyes went wide in horror when he saw the red hair._

 _His horror increased when he realized the figure laying stunned and prone at his feet was not a man, but a woman. The moment he caught sight of her stunning green eyes, filled with pity and determined rage, he staggered backward and nearly dropped his sword in shock._

 _"…Liz?"_

 _She stared at him with a clenched jaw, pushing herself to a kneeling position and reaching for her sword._

 _"You…_ why _?!"_

 _"Because," Lizette grunted, "you are not my husband." She swung at him several times, the Dragonborn just managing to fend off her strikes. "My husband, my Mire, would_ never _have enslaved my parents—or anyone else who'd sworn their loyalty to him, for whatever reason!"_

 _"You betrayed me!"_

 _She shrieked in fury and pain, tears flowing freely from her eyes as she kept swinging in desperation. "_ You _betrayed_ me _! Your lust for power, your ambition, has doomed us_ all _, and you never even saw it!" She locked her blade with his, pushing him back toward the steps leading to his throne. "You never even thought to look." Her green eyes, reddened by emotion, ran with an endless stream of tears. "And that is something my love would_ never _have done."_

 _Miraak stared into her eyes, into her broken, despondent expression, for a full five seconds as their blades ground against each other. And then he felt something snap inside him, and a cold, ferocious rage stirred in his gut, giving strength to his arms. Her sword snapped away from him, quickly coming back in for a follow-up strike. It was knocked from her grip by a flick of his wrist, and a reverse slash cut her left leg's hamstring, forcing a scream from her throat and the collapse of her leg. Lizette of the Skaal knelt before him, staring up at the cold fury on his face with heartrending sadness._

 _"I did…all of this…for_ you _," he ground out. "And_ this _is how you repay me? I would've conquered the_ world _for you! And this is how you repay me?!"_

 _Lizette sniffed and held her bleeding leg, her eyes never leaving his. "You may have saved me from Sahrotaar, but that was your decision, as was everything that happened after." She frowned. "So do not_ dare _blame me for making you into the very kind of tyrant you aimed to destroy."_

 _"I swore to defend you, to make you a world worth living in, no matter what."_

 _"The world_ was _worth living in, Mire." She reached out and placed her gloved fingers over his sword-hand. "As long as_ you _were in it with me. I never needed all of this."_

 _Miraak's eyes went dead and cold, as did his tone. "I am your husband, Lizette. As such, you swore_ _to support me, no matter what came."_

 _Liz's green eyes darkened as her frown returned, and she slowly released his hand. "My husband…is dead."_

 _A thousand red-hot daggers lanced through Miraak's heart at the declaration, his chest throbbing and pounding with agony as a thousand emotions flew through him._

No…don't even think about it.

 _Miraak eyed Lizette's defiant features with madness in his gaze. "If that's the case…"_

Miraak, no!

 _His grip tightened around his sword. "…then it's only fitting…"_

She's the only good thing in your life, dammit! Don't do it!

 _"…that you_ join _him!"_

 _In one fluid, convicted motion, driven by a tempest of emotion and a surge of pure madness; Miraak's right arm thrust forward, his unnatural Daedric blade piercing the heart of the one he loved most. He watched, half in agony, as his wife stared up at him with wide eyes and a gaping jaw, the betrayal and pain in her gaze piercing Miraak to the very core. Slowly, surely, the light went out of her eyes, and he pushed her from his blade with the sole of his boot. As her lifeless body slowly fell, back-first and limp against the ground, Miraak's vision blurred with unshed tears, barely held back by sheer force of will._

 _And in the back of his mind, Ketar could only scream._

…

The piteous wails of the Last Dragonborn pierced the otherwise silent air of Apocrypha as he fell to his knees, shaking like a leaf in a typhoon. His hands were balled into fists, one against the cold gray stone of a platform, the other around the hilt of Dragonborn's Fury. His vision flashed in and out with the vision of Lizette's lifeless, bloody corpse, his senses returning bit by bit until he slowly remembered where he was. Still trembling violently, Ketar looked up and around him, seeing only the platform he was standing on, the ramp behind him that sloped downward, and a pedestal containing the same book he'd read right before the flashbacks sitting in front of him.

It took him a while to piece together exactly what had happened, and when he did, a chill passed through his veins. Looking around the walkways and platforms far below and around him, he could see the lifeless bodies of various Lurkers and Seekers, splayed out in various levels of dismemberment. The blade of his sword was coated in congealed blood, quickly melting off its enchanted surface once he gave it a good shake. The aches he'd felt in the dream sequence, or whatever the hell that was, were still there, and apparently the result of fighting well over a dozen powerful Daedra, an experience he could only vaguely remember.

While in that trance, he'd effectively carved a path through Apocrypha's guardians to make it to this book, the final chapter of _Epistolary Acumen_. About a minute after coming to his senses, someone else came to congratulate him on his victory. An all-too-familiar set of dark pools emerged in the air in front of him, on the other side of the book, and the grotesque countenance of Hermaeus Mora appeared a moment later.

"Well done, my champion," he said. "Your journey towards enlightenment has finally lead you here, to my realm, as I knew it would."

Ketar snarled, still not having sheathed his sword. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"You have entered my realm. You have sought out the forbidden knowledge that only one other has obtained. You are Dragonborn, like Miraak before you. A seeker of knowledge and power."

"I am _nothing_ like Miraak!" Ketar roared.

"No? Then why are you here, seeking to bend the world to your will as he did?"

"I will _never_ serve you, monster." He bared his teeth. "I just want Miraak dead."

"You will serve me, willing or not. All who seek after the secrets of the world are my servants. Thanks to your…reading, you now know the second Word of Power, needed to bend the will of mortals to your purpose. But this is not enough. Miraak knows the final Word of Power. Without that, you cannot hope to surpass him. Miraak served me well, and was rewarded. I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price."

"I saw what you did to him, the price you exacted."

"Ah, but all that destruction was _his_ choice, not mine. I simply gave my knowledge in exchange for servitude. Any great secrets of the dragons, he added to my library, and in exchange, I gave him the power to conquer his foes. That he misused it is on him, not me."

Ketar's jaw clenched, as did his grip around the Fury as his chest filled with rage at Miraak's memories. "What do you want?"

"Knowledge for knowledge. The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years. The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library."

"And what makes you think they'll just give it up?"

"My servant Miraak would have found a way to bring me what I want. So will you, if you wish to surpass him. And if you fail to be convincing enough on your own…you already have the knowledge to bend their minds and _force_ it from them."

Ketar's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why would you help me defeat Miraak if he's sworn himself to your service? Why abandon such a powerful ally?"

Mora hummed thoughtfully. "He has served me long and well…but he grows restless under my guidance. His desire to return to your world will spread my influence more widely. But it will also set him free from my direct control. It may be time to replace him with a more loyal servant. One who still appreciates the gifts that I have to offer."

"I already told you: no one controls me. If I do this, it's a business transaction, nothing more."

"Think of it as you will; whatever is necessary to soothe your… _sensibilities_."

His jaw clenched as he took a long breath and sheathed the Fury. "Fine. I'll try, but I make no promises."

"Excellent. Send the Skaal shaman to me. He holds the secrets that will be mine."

With a small nod of acknowledgement and a rock in the pit of his stomach, Ketar opened the rift and read the Black Book once more, returning to Tel Mithryn moments later.

…

When he opened his eyes, the ceiling of the Telvanni tower was more welcome than anything he'd seen in the last…how long had it been? He asked as much of Frea when she rushed to his side upon seeing him wake.

"Almost three days," she answered, pushing a flask of water into his hands. "We were starting to get worried." Frea frowned in a reading Neloth's direction. "Well, _I_ was anyway."

"Welcome back," said the wizard absently as he laid down his book. "I trust your mission was a success?"

Ketar was staring at the ground in a daze, his mind still half on the vision of that Skaal woman, lying bloody and lifeless against the stones of Miraak's temple. With a few hard blinks, he looked up and drank from the flask before giving his answer. "Yes. Sort of. There's one more step I need to take…" he frowned up at Frea, "I don't think you're gonna like it."

She frowned back. "Well, whatever the case, we should get to it immediately…if you're feeling up to it."

He blinked a few more times, assessing his body, then cleared his throat and nodded as he pushed himself upright. "Yeah…whatever else I endured in there, I don't seem to be tired in the least."

Frea smiled. "Well that's good."

"We need to get to your village. That's where we'll find…the next step."

She frowned, obviously fearing his implications, but nodded. "All right then. Follow me."

Ketar did, making his way behind her toward the elevator and the exit, but pausing near Neloth's desk to look over his shoulder, trying to get his attention. "Neloth—thank y—"

He froze the instant his eyes alit on something the wizard was scribbling down.

 _No…no way…_

Sitting there on the table was a stack of used manila papers, each only a few inches long and across, with a very specific and familiar pattern around the border.

And immaculate handwriting in their centers.

Ketar's expression and tone darkened as he bowed his head slightly, his eyes locking onto the back of Neloth's head as his hands clenched into fists. "Frea…go on without me."

The Nord blinked and asked, "What?"

"Go to your village and await my arrival. There's something I need to do."

Sensing his gaze, Neloth turned in his chair and slowly rose to his feet, apparently recognizing the look in his eyes.

Frea picked up on the sudden tension between them. "If…there's something between you two—"

"I said _go_!" Ketar bellowed, causing her to flinch. He looked back at her, half scowling already. "Trust me when I say that in what's about to happen…you'll only be in the way."

Frea gulped hard, her pale features even more so than usual, and nodded hesitantly. "I'll…see you there?"

"Count on it," he ground out, turning back to face Neloth as she left. "You and me? We've got a little something to discuss."

The wizard had the audacity to smirk and splay his arms out to the sides. "I'm all ears."

* * *

AN: _Wow_ this is one long-ass chapter. Even longer than usual. Sorry about that. It's just that with what I have planned, I didn't want to drag the rest of this arc into three chapters, so I made this one just a little longer to compensate and keep things ordered. I hope everything is making sense so far with the flashbacks and multiple perspectives. The last of Miraak's story should be done now, so it's back to the real world full-time. I had a really hard time writing these last few chapters, but I had to muscle through all the flashbacks and I'll tell you why.

Bethesda is great at making RPGs. Loved both Dishonored games, and pretty much every ES game to date, as well as Fallout 3 and 4. However, when it comes to creating a compelling villain, with Miraak, they unequivocally _failed_. He was evil and egomaniacal for no reason whatsoever, or if there _was_ a reason, they never gave it. That was why, up until I came up with the idea for this walk down memory lane, I had absolutely no impetus to write any Dragonborn content whatsoever.

So, for those of you who agreed that the Dragonborn content was flat and unfulfilling, I hope this story has helped make it mean something more.

Anyway, that's all I'll say for now, since Miraak's memories were pretty much the primary focus of this chapter. Next chapter will end this arc, even if I have to add an extra thousand or two words like I did with this one. For those of you who are feeling somewhat depressed by this continuously crappy turn of events, hold on. Your faith _will_ be rewarded, I promise.

And with that, I'm out.

\- CDrake

P.S.: Forgot to mention: next chapter, the close of this arc, will feature not one, not two, but _three_ side-by-side boss fights. Enjoy!

Musical Inspirations:

Mass Effect 3 – Leaving Earth: start-0:50—Liz's betrayal revealed/duel of desperation, 0:50-1:36—kneeling before Miraak/"My husband is dead", 1:36-end—a broken heart impaled/unshed tears/Ketar's scream


	12. The Power of Virtue

Ketar and Neloth eyed each other carefully, the former scowling with a cold rage in his eyes.

The latter crossed his arms and arched a questioning eyebrow. "So, Dragonborn…what exactly are we doing here?"

Ketar's jaw tightened. "I know what you are. I know what you've done."

Neloth smirked. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"You're an agent of Miraak…and you sent those assassins after me."

His lips twitched almost indiscernibly. "Now what would make you say that?"

Ketar smiled malevolently as they paced around each other. "It wasn't any one thing per se. I don't think it all fell into place until just now. Probably the first warning sign was your autonomy. On this island, only two parties remained immune to Miraak's domination: the Skaal, who had to erect a constant magical barrier just to keep from losing their minds; and you, who were standing at one of the focuses of that mind-bending power completely unaffected. The second is that electrostatic spell you use; one of the assassins that cornered me in Riverwood sent two guards in full chain armor flying twenty feet through the air using such magic.

"Then there was all your knowledge about Hermaeus Mora, and the fact that you knew _exactly_ —" he jabbed a finger at Neloth, "—where to find the book I needed to take Miraak down. Finally," he said, coming to a halt, "there's your parchment."

The wizard's eyebrows hiked upward. "My what?"

Ketar pointed at his writing desk. "The cards you use to take notes; one of the assassins had a note with orders to kill me scribbled on such paper—in _your_ handwriting." He laced his fingers together and strode toward Neloth. "So, you see, these items individually may seem like coincidence, but together…" his eyes flashed, "it's all pretty damning."

Neloth stared at him for a few moments before breaking out into quiet chuckles. "My my…I was right; you _are_ a clever one. Well done, Dov. You just made one mistake: I am not an agent of Miraak. Technically, the order came from him, yes, but the true source of this order was Hermaeus Mora himself."

Ketar's eyebrows shot upward. "What?"

"See, he needed a way to draw you here, for what I didn't know until we met. In return, he gave me the knowledge to properly perform a particular…transplant procedure using something I call a 'Heart Stone.'" He frowned. "My last attempt had gone poorly, and I needed to get it right the second time. So I made a deal with Mora to get you to Solstheim to pay for this knowledge…and it worked."

He snorted. "I should've known."

"Yes, yes, you know now. What of it?"

Ketar stared. "What do you mean 'what of it'?"

"I mean just that. What about it?"

"…you sent those assassins to kill me."

"Nonsense. If you really were Dragonborn, I knew a few of my throwaway apprentices would be no match for you. Thus, the oh-so-obvious note summoning you here."

Ketar's teeth gritted. "Throwaway? Is that how you view your own people? Hell, that's how you think of people in _general_ , isn't it?"

Neloth sighed. "And there you go again with your moralizing. If they got themselves killed performing a task, then they were destined to die either way. This way, at least, they died for a good cause: ensuring my ascension to immortality."

"Immortality?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh yes. You see, the Heart Stone is a powerful magical gem resulting from the eruption of Red Mountain, and I'd long theorized that if transplanted into an otherwise normal body, the stone would give the recipient vastly increased magical attributes. It turns out _physical_ attributes are also massively increased, to the point where virtually any wound inflicted regenerates in a matter of _hours_."

Ketar's eyes narrowed. "Virtually?"

"Well, of course it would depend on whether or not tissue is removed from the body. You cannot knit something back together when the base material is missing."

The Dragonborn smirked. "That's good to know."

Neloth eyed him carefully. "…so you intend to kill me? Why? The so-called assassins I sent failed in their mission, as I knew they would. You arrived little the worse for wear, and even managed to prevent Miraak from enslaving the minds of Solstheim's inhabitants. From where I'm standing, it looks like you _owe_ me."

"Except sending those assassins isn't all you did, is it? _Is_ it?"

Neloth remained silent.

"You made a deal with Miraak, to retain your free will, but he wouldn't have done that for the completion of a task he could've sent a _monkey_ for. No…" Ketar's eyes narrowed, "you helped him corrupt the All-Maker Stones, didn't you?"

The wizard's silence was answer enough.

Ketar smiled derisively and shook his head. "I thought you looked a little too interested in the 'fascinating madness' occurring at the Earth Stone. So, to sum up: you made a deal with Hermaeus Mora to draw me here using two otherwise innocent people to do your dirty work and helped an ages-old madman enslave the minds of an entire island. Am I missing anything?"

"From what I understand, you're about to make a similar deal with Mora yourself."

"To undo what you screwed up. To _save_ lives, instead of stepping on them to push myself upward. You really think Miraak will leave you alone if he conquers Solstheim? He won't allow a powerful entity like yourself to exist outside his control. Sooner or later, he'll break down the doors of this tower to enslave or kill you."

"And should that happen, I will be prepared."

Ketar shook his head slowly. "You…are _everything_ wrong with magic. You have the power, the talent…but not an _ounce_ of humility, or even _consideration_ for your fellow man. Magic was not meant to be exploited the way you seem insistent on doing."

"And you know this _how_?" Neloth snarled. "You, a naïve, inexperienced _brat_ who swings his sword around like a troll with a new toy. Tell me how you became such an _authority_ on the 'proper' use of magic."

Ketar smirked. "Because I'm the Arch-Mage of Winterhold, asshole."

At that, Neloth stared at him in silence.

"And as guardian of magic, in Skyrim and all its territories, past or present…" he bared his teeth, "I find you guilty of crimes against nature and humanity." His left hand flared with a massive draw of magicka as his right drew Dragonborn's Fury. "The sentence for which…is death."

Neloth's eyes narrowed dangerously as he too readied his spells. "Then come and execute it…if you can."

…

Highpoint Tower, isolated fortress and laboratory of the necromancer Ildari Sarothril. It was…

"A complete dump," said Bard.

"Yeah, agreed," Serana replied.

At present, the pair was making its way up an upward-spiraling set of stone stairs leading to the entrance of the tower. It appeared that the eruption of Red Mountain had covered most of the once-taller structure in volcanic rock, the sections above-ground partially collapsed under the onslaught. As a result, there was only one viable entrance and exit, and Serana shuddered to think of what would happen if it were to collapse as well.

 _I'm no fan of the sun, but I've spent more than enough time in caves already._

Still, there was nothing for it if they wanted to stop Ildari from unleashing a hellstorm of Ash Spawn on Tel Mithryn. She exchanged a look with Bard, seeing his nod and turning to the door, both of them kicking it down so hard it splintered into pieces. Immediately, they were assaulted by two of the strange creatures, Serana drawing her Elven dagger and deflecting blows from one while Bard ducked under the other and drew his spear from his belt. She twisted around a fireball from the one confronting her, countering with a vicious thrust to the thing's neck that gave her the leverage to pull its head off with her empty hand.

After seeing the burns inflicted by the Ash Spawn in Ildari's other hideout, Valerica had gifted Serana a pair of armored vampire gauntlets designed by the smiths of the Volkihar Clan. While a little heavy and unwieldly, when combined with her Volkihar Royal Knight armor, which she'd worn at Bard's suggestion, they made for significantly greater protection against the effects of extreme heat. The man himself skewered his Ash Spawn through the chest, wrenching the spear loose and slashing its head's razor-sharp edges through the thing's neck like an executioner's axe.

It toppled to the ground in a pile of volcanic ash moments later, like hers.

Serana nodded to Bard as she cleaned off her blade. "You pulled it out early."

The werewolf frowned. "If Ildari is as powerful as we think, I'll need to conserve my strength for our battle with her. Depending on how many of these things she has at her disposal, fighting barehanded may prove to be extremely hazardous."

Another nod as she waved toward a passage leading down a long spiral staircase. "After you."

…

Agmaer was panicking.

To put this in perspective, he hadn't panicked during the siege of Castle Volkihar, when he'd had two vampires double-teaming him, one holding him down while the other tried to bite his neck. He hadn't panicked when he'd been surrounded by vampire lords and fighting in close quarters with his crossbow on an empty plateau with no cover. He hadn't panicked when faced with a dragon that could easily have chomped his head off faster than he could even draw a weapon halfway.

But he was _definitely_ panicking now, mostly because every single attack he had launched was completely ineffective against the enemy they now faced. He'd never met the witch before her transformation, so he couldn't gauge her previous magical power. However, between the perfect gem she held in one hand and the Amulet of Riving, it was taking everything he had just to stay alive. Six of the twenty free-standing pillars in the cave had already been toppled. Every time he tried to return fire with his crossbow, even with his exploding bolts, she created a shield that reduced their effect to nothing.

He couldn't crack it, no matter how hard he tried, and that was a _problem_ , because she had both ranged and defensive superiority, and he was getting tired. Brelyna, likewise, had been bombarding the hagraven with spells, just as ineffectively as him, and had more than once deflected an ice spike intended for Agmaer's body. At present, she was preparing a spell that required a bit more concentration at a far corner of the room while Agmaer was keeping Salonia busy. The vile hagraven cackled and held the amulet's stone in her hand as she cast another powerful blast of kinetic energy his way.

The effect of the amulet's spell was interesting, like a thick blade cutting straight through a certain section of space. It was powerful, obviously—it could cleave straight through solid stone—but it built in speed as it left the body of the caster. At the long ranges Agmaer tended to favor, the attack was easy enough to dodge. The only problem, of course, was that insufferable shield. If they didn't find a way to crack it soon, Agmaer would run out of strength, Brelyna out of magicka, and with an equally impenetrable barrier blocking their way out, they'd be trapped in the same room as this murderous witch.

Agmaer sent another trio of bolts at Salonia, this time aiming for three separate spots on her body: head, shoulder, and leg. He was testing to see if it took her any extra focus or power to keep the perfect gem's protection active at separate parts of the shield. It didn't, and as a result, she countered with another strange spell faster than he'd anticipated. Apparently, in addition to creating shields, Salonia had determined a method of using a perfect gem's barrier magic to form jagged shards of hard light and send them flying at her opponents, an action she was currently in the middle of performing.

While not overall as destructive as the Amulet of Riving, it was a much faster and more precise attack, and forced Agmaer to keep dashing and rolling from cover to cover as she sent wave after wave of magic flechettes his way. This time, however, he was too slow, and only managed to get partway out of her path of attack. Two jagged sapphire spikes impacted the side of his torso, one simply grazing through his armor and passing through, the other digging deep into his lower chest. Agmaer yelled in pain as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his side and feeling the energy spike digging around in his flesh.

"So soft," Salonia hissed as she approached him, wiggling the forefinger of the hand holding the perfect gem. "So _tender_."

She licked her lips disgustingly, causing Agmaer to grimace at the pain she was inflicting with the twisting spike. Then it hit him.

 _Wait a minute…if she's so focused on this spike, and closer…_

With some effort, Agmaer managed to lift his eyes and see her, barely eight feet away now.

 _Just as I thought…no shield._

With a titanic surge of effort and a grit of his teeth, Agmaer lifted his crossbow and fired off an explosive shot at nearly point-blank range. Salonia's black eyes widened as she dispelled the spike and recalled the energy to create another shield. However, at that short distance, she was only partially successful. Specifically, the shield formed at a space halfway through the bolt—with its enchanted head on _her_ side. An explosion of fire erupted from the opposite side of the barrier, engulfing the shrieking hag in magical flames and sending her stumbling away in agony.

As he picked himself off the ground with significant effort, Agmaer could relate. Whatever she'd hit with that spike was really doing a number on his mobility. Salonia, it turned out, recovered faster than he did. She whirled toward him with a furious expression, claws curling around her two magic gems, the Amulet of Riving glowing faintly, as it always did before a cast. Agmaer's eyes widened.

 _Oh shit._

A sudden hiss from the side drew the witch's attention, and she whirled around just in time to raise a shield and block an incoming fireball. When Agmaer's eyes looked for the source, he spotted a female-shaped Flame Atronach hovering where Brelyna had been preparing her spell. His gaze darted about, looking for the mage herself, only to stop when he saw her sliding to a stop next to his half-collapsed form. Concern was in her deep red eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked, the same concern lacing her tone.

Agmaer grinned crookedly and gave her a thumbs-up. "Give me five and I will be." He jerked his head at the Daedra currently doing battle with the hagraven. "Good thinking with that Atronach."

Brelyna smirked and looked over at them with a nod. "Something I noticed about her barrier style—she can only defend in one direction at once, otherwise her barrier would form a sphere, not a flat shield."

Agmaer frowned and glanced toward the blocked passage. "You don't think—"

"Yeah," she answered, "that's _exactly_ what I think. The focus it takes to keep us trapped here—"

"Is the one thing making her vulnerable."

"So we hit her from _three_ sides instead of two. Sooner or later, she's bound to slip up, and then we can put her down."

Agmaer loaded all three barrels of his crossbow and cranked it back. "Just give me a clear shot."

Brelyna smiled and nodded, patting his shoulder. "Good luck." And with that, she ran off to join her summoned creature's battle.

Agmaer, for his part, was just barely staying on his feet, despite the healing potion he downed a second after Brelyna left his side. Something about this hag's magic was messing with his stamina. He prayed the Dunmer girl would be able to stay on her feet in a pitched battle. She tried to hide it even now (and was doing a fairly good job), but Brelyna's movements were growing more and more sluggish by the second, with every spell she cast. Even using a fire staff to attack Salonia was only buying her so much time, and no matter what she and the Atronach did, nothing ever seemed to get through the witch's defenses.

Agmaer forced his exhausted body to move, limping his way behind another pillar in an attempt to flank the hagraven, but after dodging simultaneous fire spells from Brelyna and her Daedra, Salonia aimed the Amulet of Riving in his direction and sent a powerful but poorly-aimed spell streaking his way. Agmaer hurled himself from cover, aggravating his injury severely, but avoiding the worst of a shower of heavy rocks that exploded from the remains of the pillar. Still, the maneuver had laid him out prone once again, leaving him completely vulnerable.

Brelyna tried to take the pressure off him by lunging forward with a stream of fire, but before the stream could get within range, Salonia whirled around and projected her shield like a spinning discus, cutting through the air in a deadly arc of hard light. Brelyna just managed to duck under the attack, but her Flame Atronach wasn't so fortunate, and was cut in two before being returned to Oblivion. Red eyes wide, Brelyna rapidly backed up and put up a ward, the magic shield solidifying in time to stop a barrage of energy spikes—but just barely. As it stood, they'd buried themselves in the ward and seemed to still be pushing forward.

Her teeth gritted as she held back the attack, Agmaer struggling to move, to help, to do _something_. With a widening of his eyes, he saw an opening. And he took it. His crossbow fired all three of its bolts in rapid succession, aiming at three separate targets. Only one of them impacted where he'd intended, but that was the one he fired first, the one that mattered most. A Dwarven metal bolt hit the hagraven's perfect gem head-on, sending it flying from her grip and dissipating both the magical barrier over the entrance and the spikes trying to perforate Brelyna's body. The hag whirled toward Agmaer with a furious glare and baring of its teeth, holding the Amulet of Riving tightly and sending another blast in his direction.

He was ready this time.

Agmaer barrel-rolled to his left, the wave just missing him as he rapidly loaded another three shots into his weapon. Like the last barrage, all three were fired as fast as they'd been loaded, Salonia just managing to avoid one, but the other two struck her in some way. One dug itself into her left shoulder, the arm with the easiest access to the amulet, and the other just grazed her neck, but it also sliced off a runed talisman made of some sort of bone.

And like that, Agmaer felt the massive fatigue lift from his body.

Grinning, the newest Blade leapt to his feet and reloaded his crossbow, unleashing two explosive bolts toward the hagraven and finding them absorbed by a rapidly constructed ward. However, the ward shattered on the second explosion, leaving the third explosive missile, a shock bolt, streaking on unimpeded. The explosion of electricity tore another shriek from the hagraven's throat, smoke rising from her hideous form as she gripped the Amulet of Riving with her other hand. The moment Agmaer rolled away from the energy blast, her other hand fired off an ice spike into his path, nearly skewering him in the lower leg before he managed to twist in the opposite direction, reloading as he went.

A second ice spike followed a split-second later, this time impacting and separating him from his crossbow. Knowing he wouldn't get the chance to recover it, Agmaer lunged forward and drew his Dawnguard axe, twirling it from its sheath and releasing a furious battle cry. Salonia grinned madly, about to release another blast from the amulet when a fireball slammed her in the face from the side. Agmaer smiled at the sight of his girl back on her feet, if just barely. He nearly drew up short as he realized what had just run through his head.

 _My girl?_ He smirked. _Maybe, if we survive this._

His axe swung for the hag's head, Agmaer finding her claws more than a match for its edge as she deflected his blows one after the other. Though he by and large despised resorting to close combat, he was in no way deficient in it. Still, this creature had once been a powerful and likely centuries-old vampire, with who knows how many years of experience on him. Just a few moves in, he knew he'd have to change things up or risk her getting a lucky shot off with that amulet. And at this range, he'd have no chance to dodge…which meant sharing the fate of one of the demolished pillars…with squishy chunky bits instead of stones.

With that unsettling image in his head, Agmaer grinned outright a split-second before reaching back with his unoccupied left hand and gripping the handle of his wakizashi. His axe came down from his right in a falling diagonal strike, the powerful blow deflected by both of the hag's hands. Using that moment of vulnerability, Agmaer drew the Akaviri shortsword underhandedly and struck in the same motion. Salonia lurched her head backward on instinct, just missing a powerful horizontal blow that likely would've cleaved her head clean off. Instead, several locks of her scraggly gray hair drifted to the ground, the hag's eyes wide in surprise—and narrowing a moment later in fury.

Hissing violently, Salonia lunged forward, swiping his axe aside and following up with several claw thrusts to his gut. His wakizashi just managed to ward her off before he switched it to an overhand grip, the axe countering with an upward strike. Salonia again lurched her head away from his attack, then dashed forward, her long, sinuous arms wrapping around his entire torso before he could react and all ten of her claws digging into his back. Agmaer screamed as his armor was pierced and flesh flayed, her grip around him just as crushing as if she'd still been a vampire.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Agmaer took a page out of Ketar's book and slammed his forehead into the hag's in a powerful headbutt, making that horrid nose of hers even more crooked with a sickening _crunch_. Snarling in pain, the hagraven recoiled and released him, but he had barely a split-second to breathe before she slashed her claws across his face. His left eye's vision immediately went white, then dark. He blinked several times, trying to clear the darkness away, panicking when it didn't, then refocusing on the loathsome creature about to kill him.

Both his weapons came up in an overhead block as Salonia viciously brought all her claws down toward his neck. In his kneeling position, Agmaer was already at a disadvantage, made even worse by the hag's superior physical strength. His one good eye looked to the side to see Brelyna trying her best to run for him, but he could tell she wasn't going to make it in time.

 _Must've run out of magicka._

That realization was of no help to him at present, as his strength was rapidly fading, those claws getting ever closer. Agmaer had barely a second before his arms gave out completely, and both arteries in his neck were ripped open. He made his decision in less than half that time. His head—indeed his entire body—leaned back as far as it could go without sending him sprawling onto his back, Agmaer letting his weapons fall and grasping the hilt of his axe with both hands. As expected, Salonia's claws sank deep into his chest armor, at its thickest part, and while the claws were armor-piercing, her fingers themselves were not. With how thick the plate was at that point, her implements broke the skin just far enough to dig into his flesh, but not enough to pass the rib cage and hit anything important.

It still hurt like all living hell, but the second that Salonia's claws were stuck in his armor was a second he used to swing for her neck with everything he had. Eyes widening, she lunged away from his strike as fast as she could, and to an extent, it worked. Her claws were torn free, along with an agonized scream from Agmaer's throat, and the axe's head only grazed the skin of her neck. However, the hooked bottom half of his weapon also managed to snag the chain of the Amulet of Riving, and no matter how hard Salonia pulled away, she couldn't manage to unhook it. The next sequence of events happened so fast, Agmaer could barely understand it.

Specifically, Salonia grasped the amulet's stone with one of her bloodied hands, preparing to fire its spell once again. Agmaer's eyes widened in alarm, and he yanked on the chain hard, trying to remove the artifact from her grasp. As the yank reached its pinnacle of force, Brelyna lunged her hands between him and the amulet, and created a ward brighter and stronger than anything she'd cast up to that point.

The next thing Agmaer knew, he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of the cave with his one good eye and breathing heavily with a heavy weight on his chest. Groaning and grunting with effort, he just managed to crane his head down, eyes widening when he saw the head of Brelyna, her hood torn clean off and replaced with a carefully-groomed head of horn-styled raven hair. He would've thought it looked elegant if it wasn't matted with her blood—or was it his? Either way, she was one-hundred percent unconscious. That much was apparent when he managed to get into a sitting position, cradling her limp body in his arms.

He rolled her face-up with some effort, looking down at her limp features and closed eyes in alarm. He touched her face, biting his glove off to take her pulse, but his own heart was racing too fast for him to be able to tell. Pure, unadulterated terror shot through him when he couldn't feel breath pass her lips.

 _She was out of magicka…and yet she put up a ward strong enough to block the amulet's magic._ His eyes widened in horror. _Wait…don't tell me…_ His teeth gritted. _Ketar, you bastard…you taught her how to break her limits, didn't you?_ His heart jumped when he remembered something. _But if you did…she's a smart girl, and that means she'll have…_

His hands patted and searched her pockets in desperation, fingers finally finding what he was looking for. His teeth tore the cork from a blue vial, the potion's contents dumped past her parted lips and down her throat. Finally, after a few seconds, she gasped slightly and took in a wheezing breath, but to his dismay, didn't regain consciousness. A few seconds later, his relief was replaced with terror once again when he saw Salonia claw her way from a cluster of rubble. What was worse: she'd recovered her perfect gem, and with the barrier she'd been keeping up fallen, that shield of hers would be stronger than ever.

More than any other time during this fight, Agmaer wished they could've brought Dolotlah with them. At the very least, the dragon would've been able to give them a distraction long enough for Agmaer to get Brelyna out. But now…

His jaw clenched. _No. No buts. I haven't failed Brelyna yet, and I'm not going to start now._

To his surprise, he found his crossbow just within arm's reach and retrieved it, using its body to push himself upright and just managing to summon the strength to heft it.

Salonia cackled mockingly. "Please! You could barely hit me when you had _both_ eyes to work with, and after the beating you took, your arms have to be quite shaky."

Agmaer's teeth gritted.

"Just give up, boy. You know you want to." She summoned a large energy spike in the shape of a pyramid, the pointed peak in his direction. "Give up and I'll make this quick, for _both_ of you."

His finger tightened around the crossbow's trigger. "That's not going to happen. This girl is important to me…in ways you could never understand."

"Aww…how cute. Is the little vampire hunter in _love_?"

Agmaer smirked. "I wouldn't go that far…but someday? Who knows." He snarled in fury. "I do know that I'm not going to let you _touch_ her…no matter what."

Another coarse laugh. "Very well. I'll allow you this futile effort if it makes your final moments worthwhile."

Agmaer's jaw clenched once more. _Dammit…she's right. Even if I_ do _get an accurate shot off…I can't break through that barrier._ Suddenly, he heard a whisper from the side, and turned his eye to see the fallen Amulet of Riving. _No…Dolotlah said it's too dangerous._ Even then he could hear the whispers of its trapped souls. _But…if it could save Brelyna…_

Agmaer's eyes shut tightly as he made his decision. His crossbow clattered to the ground a moment later, stopping a shocked Salonia in her tracks. He lunged and rolled for the amulet, snatching it up and rising to his feet with the stone gripped tightly in his hand—pointed in _her_ direction.

The hagraven stared at him for a good two seconds before breaking out into laughter. "You? Wield that amulet? Don't make me _laugh_ , boy. You haven't the slightest idea of how to use it, and even if you did, your magical connection is so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It takes supreme force of will to make that amulet obey you." She began twirling the pyramid. "Honestly, your chances, however slim, were better with the crossbow."

"Maybe," he said in a threatening whisper, "but I have to try."

Agmaer's gaze turned to the stone of the amulet, its depths iridescent and seeming to twist in and around itself.

 _Please…just help me save her._

And then his good eye turned to Salonia, and a wave of blazing hot fury stirred in his veins as Brelyna's limp form flashed through his vision. From deep within, a spark gained life. That spark flared and flashed, over and over, until it began to travel, through his chest, up his arm, to the hand holding the Amulet of Riving. And to the shock and (surprisingly) only mild astonishment of Agmaer—its stone began to glow, even more brightly than in Salonia's grasp.

"Wha—but how—"

Agmaer's fingers clenched around the stone, and immediately, a _massive_ blast of energy lanced toward the hagraven, faster and more powerful than _anything_ she'd thrown his way. Salonia adapted quickly, shifting her massive missile to a thick hard light shield that halted the wave in its tracks. But still, the force of it was sending her skidding back through the dirt, forcing her to dig her talons into the ground to keep from being sent flying.

"How are you doing this?!" she yelled over the roar of the continuous blast. "You haven't an _ounce_ of magical talent!"

Agmaer smiled malevolently, confidence filling his tone. "You said it yourself: this amulet's power can only be used by sheer force of will. I may not have the talent—" his eyes flashed with fury as his voice rose to a scream, "—but I _have the will_!"

With that, his fingers clenched around the glowing stone, a furious roar bellowed from deep inside—and Salonia's barrier was shattered like cheap glass, the torrent of pure power that cascaded through the breach disintegrating her in less than a second. As he ran out of breath, his scream petered out, as did the remaining strength in his body. His knees gave out first, lungs heaving for breath as he tried to release the stone. It took him a second or two to figure out that it had grown so hot against his bare palm, it had actually burnt itself into the skin. With a hiss and a grimace, Agmaer gently pried the thing from his hand, leaving behind a nasty second-degree burn and some missing skin, but otherwise no lasting damage—and certainly none to his psyche.

Just to make sure, he immediately cast the amulet aside and rushed over to Brelyna, gently pulling her back into his lap and holding her to his chest.

"Lyn," he whispered in her ear. "Lyn, can you hear me?"

She was still breathing and her pulse was strong.

"Come on…please say something. Move. Do…" He gulped and took a breath, took a moment to compose himself. "No…no it's okay. You've done enough for now. Just…" he heaved for breath, "let me know if you need anything."

Agmaer held her like that for a while, at least ten seconds, when he heard a faint whisper.

"There is…one thing."

His eyes widened, the good one locking onto her face as her eyes slowly fluttered open and met his. "Tell me."

Her gaze flickered from his good eye to the bad one (he still couldn't tell if it was damaged or covered in blood—or just swollen shut) a few times before she reached one hand up to his neck. He leaned down slightly to give her better access to pull herself up. Instead, she pulled _him_ down. An instant later, Agmaer let out a very unmanly squeak when he felt her lips on his, something wet and warm flickering against his mouth for a moment before he permitted its entrance. His good eye slid shut while he let out a small sigh and whimper of relief, his scarred hand coming up to caress her cheek as he leaned down further and just enjoyed the moment.

…

Neither of the two had noticed a fourth figure in the room—well, technically above it—hiding just above the gap that permitted sunlight to come in. At the victory shared by the pair—and this new and desired development in their relationship—Valerica couldn't help but smile. She'd actually been sitting there the whole time, ready to jump in if they were truly in mortal danger. Yet, for all that, she had faith they'd be able to handle it, and if that was the case…

Valerica smiled wider. _Well done, young one. Well done indeed._

…

They'd paced around each other for mere seconds before Neloth threw the first blow: a powerful electrostatic spell that impacted the blade of Ketar's sword. He apparently hadn't figured out that Dragonborn's Fury was forged of dragonbone, not metal, and as such, Ketar wasn't deterred from lunging for him in the slightest. However, the Telvanni wizard quickly learned from his mistakes and sent his next spell into the _hilt_ of the sword—which was pure ebony. The sword was launched from his grip so hard, it nearly snapped his fingers in half. As it stood, he just managed to release the hilt in time to prevent that, instead balling that hand into a fist and driving it into Neloth's jaw with bone-crushing force.

The Dunmer merely stumbled back a step or two before countering with a blow of his own, a low dagger thrust that was just barely smacked aside with Ketar's left hand. He countered with a right knee to the gut, the wizard pushing his strike away and getting himself some breathing room in the process. Without warning, a stream of lightning lanced out toward Ketar, striking him directly across the chest and sending him reeling as he felt his magicka burnt away. Diving to the side, Ketar used one of the nearby tables for cover, knocking it sideways on his way down with the flat side toward Neloth.

The wizard kept up the pressure with a sustained barrage of lightning magic, the powerful arcs of electricity burning and chewing into the wood, little by little incinerating his cover. Gritting his teeth, Ketar's sapphire ring glowed as his left hand summoned a magical ward and he lunged out from behind the table. Neloth continuously bombarded him with lightning, moving steadily forward as the Dragonborn was pushed back. In his right hand, Ketar summoned a magical tether, his wrist snapping it around the edge of his ward to catch one of Neloth's casting wrists. His arm pulled back, breaking the wizard's focus with that hand and his balance as well when he put his hips into it.

Ketar dropped the ward and the tether a moment later, both hands coming together to channel a massive plasma bolt, released a second later and scoring a deep hole in the floor of the tower when Neloth rolled away (not an easy maneuver to pull off in those robes). Several more plasma bolts went off in rapid fire as Ketar advanced on his enemy, Neloth throwing up an all-too-familiar ward that send his spells right back at him. Dodging to either side and avoiding the reversal, Ketar grinned malevolently.

"Shalidor's Mirror—not bad."

"You haven't seen _anything_ yet," the Dunmer snarled.

The fingers of his right hand twitched, a barely-visible spark of electricity lancing between him and Ketar—and hitting the metal buckle of his belt. He was yanked forward, off-balance, attempting to reorient himself when a lightning strike slammed into his right shoulder, causing significant electrical burns and forcing a scream from his throat. Gritting his teeth, Ketar rolled to his left to avoid the next strike and summoned another ward, this time having to use both hands to focus when Neloth mimicked his own plasma bolts and threw a torrent of them his way.

 _He only saw me use it once!_ Ketar gave Neloth a deadpan glare. _Now I know how Serana felt when I learned her kinetic bolt._ He smirked. _However, I still know something you don't._

Neloth's teeth bared in frustration as he resumed firing a constant stream of lightning at Ketar's ward.

 _For every spell that hits this ward—_

Ketar growled and used one hand to maintain the shield while the other readied an Illusion spell.

 _—I only get_ stronger _!_

His right hand cast the Illusion, a red sphere of energy that struck Neloth in the head. The wizard shook himself off as he was hit with significant disorientation, the very act forcing him to cease his magical assault. Ketar lunged for another set of cover, this time a small alcove formed by the tower itself, and remained there to catch his breath while Neloth did the same. His eyes flickered over to Dragonborn's Fury, lips pursing tightly when he saw the wizard recover far faster than he should've. He made a split-second decision a moment later, opening the rift and drawing something out while the memory of a months-old conversation drifted through his head.

…

 _"I've been meaning to bring something up for a while now."_

 _Ketar looked up at Serana from his book. "What's that?"_

 _"Back in the College of Winterhold, you have the Staff of Magnus floating in your quarters."_

 _He frowned and set his book aside. "Okay?"_

 _"It's out in the open. Even if you do have it inside a perfect gem, that's still pretty vulnerable for such a powerful weapon."_

 _"Really? It would take a titanic force to break through that condensed of a barrier. I learned that particular configuration from the Eye of Magnus."_

 _Serana crossed her arms. "All the same, if someone like Ancano were to learn where you kept it…I mean…your chambers aren't really all that well-guarded…"_

 _Ketar's eyes went double-wide. "Yep. Good point." He stood up and went for his jacket._

 _She arched an eyebrow at him. "You're leaving now?"_

 _"No time like the present. And you're coming with me."_

 _Serana frowned. "Why?"_

 _He grinned. "It was_ your _idea, love."_

 _She deadpanned. "Fine, but you're taking the reins."_

 _Ketar chuckled. "Of course, love."_

…

As Ketar pulled the Staff of Magnus from the rift, a pronounced sigh passed his throat, eyes slipping shut at the thought of his beloved.

 _Gods, I miss her._ He took and released a long breath. _Whether you'll marry me or not, Sera…I'm fighting to get back to you._

And with that thought, his eyes snapped open, their blue hard as ice as his jaw set. Ketar lunged from cover, the staff coming up and the turquoise gems in its head and pommel glowing brightly at his touch. A powerful ward formed between him and an electrostatic repulsion spell, the Arch-Mage barely feeling its force as he pushed through it. His black cloak billowed in the backwash of Neloth's magical assault, explosions of fire and lightning erupting all around him but coming nowhere near due to the staff's protective enchantments. His left hand drove the staff's pommel upward, the swing smacking an incoming ice spike out of the air. In the same motion, he spun clockwise and thrust the staff-head forward, a blast of mystic energy lancing across the space between them and impacting a hastily-formed ward.

To Neloth's shock, the magicka of his ward was swiftly drained and absorbed by Ketar, who used the staff's gems to create a powerful torrent of fire, orange and red with blue flecks due to its intensity. The wizard dove away, throwing a spell into the air and summoning a staff of his own, this one gold-shafted with a deep red stone as its focus. The spell he cast from its stone was a red beam of some sort, and Ketar used his staff to summon another ward, jaw dropping in shock when it pierced through like an icepick through glass. Ketar immediately dropped the shield and lunged away from Neloth's next attack, that lance of red energy ruthlessly pursuing him.

What's worse, it was starting to morph and shift, as if it were a solid lash and not a beam of magic. He couldn't tell _what_ type of magic Neloth was using, but if he had to guess, he'd have said the staff was emitting a controlled shaft of plasma, of a different sort than the one Ketar utilized.

 _That must be how he learned my spell so quickly._

And he'd likely created that weapon using the "staff enchanter" he'd mentioned when they first met. Gritting his teeth, Ketar used the Staff of Magnus to physically block the lash, Neloth using his staff as the hilt of a whip and snapping it around to Ketar's other side. He barely managed to dodge the follow-up attack, and lunged forward to close the distance and limit Neloth's range of motion. As expected, the wizard retracted the lash into his staff and gave a smile that was all teeth as he held the weapon close. Ketar swung his staff at him with a vicious cry, the gem focus flaring with energy as he unleashed a powerful and localized concussive blast.

Neloth held the shaft of his staff in opposition to Ketar's attack, stopping and repelling it, then countering with a twist and thrust that hit him in the gut and sent him flying back off his feet. He planted chest-first on the ground, barrel-rolling to the right when Neloth swiped his staff's lash through the ground, the plasma slicing through and coming back around to take another swing at him. Ketar ducked and held his staff up, the lash curling around the head and being held there when he flipped the weapon and planted it into the ground. Neloth was at surprisingly close range, so all it took was a yank and twist of his body, using the Staff of Magnus as leverage, and Ketar was able to jump-kick the Dunmer across the jaw.

Neloth stumbled back, his spell dissipating as Ketar came back in with a flurry of staff strikes. Head, leg, thrust to the gut—all were blocked or redirected with the practiced ease of a master. Neloth's counterattack was a horizontal strike to the head, an attack Ketar just managed to snap his head away from. The pommel of Ketar's staff smacked into Neloth's right arm in counter, the small concussive explosion sending the wizard reeling and stumbling to the side. Ketar tried to follow it up with a sweep of his legs, but Neloth simply planted the pommel of his staff in the ground and stopped the weapon in its tracks.

A fire spell exploded from the wizard's empty hand, nearly melting the skin off Ketar's face but only knocking his hood off when he ducked in reflex. Neloth took advantage of his position to kick him in the face, sending him sprawling onto his back. Shaking his head to reorient himself, Ketar managed to regain his senses in time to block a falling overhead strike by Neloth, the shock of their power's meeting making his teeth chatter. Another overhead came in, dodged with a partial roll to the side, followed by a reverse roll that allowed Ketar to grip Neloth's staff by the shaft. Growling, Ketar thrust the Staff of Magnus' head into Neloth's chest with his other hand and sent the wizard flying, disarming him in the process.

He abandoned the Dunmer's weapon and shot to his feet, aiming to rush in and finish him off, but his first and second swings missed wide, the third shunted away with an electrostatic repulsion spell. Neloth used Ketar's sudden lack of balance to send another repulsion spell at the shaft of the staff itself, the impact wrenching the powerful magical weapon from his grasp and sending it clattering into a far corner of the room. Eyes widening, Ketar shifted his attention to Neloth and threw up his arms in a ward, but it didn't solidify in time to prevent him from being thrown backward by an explosion of fire.

Ketar's smoking form tumbled across the floor of the room, slowly rolling to a stop near Neloth's desk. He coughed hard as he used the furniture to pull himself upright, breathing heavily as he stumbled away from the desk. Neloth had already retrieved his staff, and was stalking toward Ketar with a furious look in his red eyes. The Arch-Mage attempted to summon the Staff of Magnus with telekinesis, but before he could so much as snag the weapon in his invisible grip, Neloth closed the distance and slammed his arm with the head of his staff. The concussive spell nearly shattered his forearm, only his Dragonborn physiology and natural Breton resistance to magic holding his bones together.

Ketar stumbled away with a scream, holding his injured arm and backpedaling as Neloth relentlessly advanced on him. His staff swung again and again, even the dodged explosions sending a shock through his body until finally Neloth had had enough and drove the head of the staff into the ground hard. The massive shockwave that ensued reverberated throughout the tower's entire structure, sending Ketar tumbling to the ground face-first. He scrambled to regain his footing, but Neloth's staff slammed down into his back, pummeling him into the ground. The impact actually left small cracks in the floor. Ketar coughed hard struggling to catch his breath and push himself upright.

Neloth, on the other hand, sneered at his attempts. "'Guardian of magic,' eh?" He snorted derisively. "It appears that of us both—"

Ketar managed to rise to a kneeling position, glaring defiantly up at Neloth's smug features.

"— _I_ am the supreme sorcerer."

The Dragonborn took in a deep breath as Neloth drew his staff back, the weapon held underhandedly and its focusing crystal aimed toward him like a spear. When it began to glow, he knew exactly what the Dunmer had planned, and focused every dreg of his remaining energy on two things. The first was the activation of "Dragonskin," the most powerful ability tied to Breton blood, which gave him the ability to absorb half of any magic thrown at him; his studies as Arch-Mage had increased that to over eighty percent. The second was the preparation and condensation of a magical ward, effectively channeling its full power into a space the size of his palm—directly over his right hand.

As a result, when Neloth brought his staff down toward Ketar's head, its focus emitting the same penetrating lance of plasma, it stopped—in the palm of the Dragonborn's extended hand.

The Dunmer wizard's eyes went as wide as they could go, his arms struggling and buckling as the staff's massive emission of energy flowed and spat around Ketar's ward—which was steadily growing closer to the staff. The clash of their magic sent Neloth skidding back bit by bit, despite his attempts to hold his ground, and despite his shaking, Ketar managed to stand up fully, slowly forcing his hand closer and closer to Neloth's staff. Finally, with a bellow of exertion, Ketar lunged forward, his hand's ward pushing the plasma beam back until…

His palm was flush against the staff's red gem.

Neloth gaped in pure shock a split-second before Ketar knife-handed him in the throat, then twisted the staff from his grasp with a twist-kick that sent him stumbling away. With a growl, Ketar placed the staff gem-first against a nearby wall with one hand, and with his other hand sent a powerful kinetic bolt into its shaft, splitting the weapon in two. Panicking, Neloth reached out with a telekinetic spell, trying to pull the Staff of Magnus to his grasp, but he found himself flung backward when his own belt buckle was used as the anchor for an electrostatic repulsion spell.

The Dunmer managed to make it halfway upright when he froze in horror at the sight before him: Ketar, drawing his hands over each other, then apart, up and down, in a stretching motion, arcs of red-orange energy leaping between his fingers. Ketar had used the power he absorbed from the staff's enchantment and combined it with his tether spell to form a fully functional, if less lethal, plasma lash. His right hand whipped it loose as soon as the spell solidified, swinging it down to build power, then swiping it toward Neloth's right arm and wrapping it firmly.

The lash burned, but only so far into the skin before it stopped, as he'd intended. The pain alone would keep Neloth immobilized enough for what he had planned. Specifically, whipping that red-hot cable around a hooked metal support near the ceiling and leaving it there. To Neloth's surprise, the cable persisted, despite no longer being in physical contact with Ketar's body. His will was enough to maintain its magic. Another plasma lash was summoned and used to ensnare his other arm, the same done with it in the opposite direction. Two more were used on both his ankles, those cables lashed to supports on the ground at opposite ends of the room. Ketar panted in exertion once they were all in place, Neloth struggling against his bonds as the burning cords dug into his flesh.

He snarled at Ketar, laughing maniacally. "What do you intend to do now, boy? Kill me? Well, good luck with that. I'm _immortal_!"

Ketar's blue eyes glinted as he smirked malevolently. "I bet you wouldn't be quite so immortal if I tore that stone from your chest."

Neloth's eyes widened, and he knew he'd hit the mark.

"However," he added, "I have no intentions of killing you."

The Dunmer arched an eyebrow. "So it's torture then. You'll have to do better than this weak heat if that's the case.

He smiled, a cruel glint in his eyes. "On the contrary, I plan to give you everything you've ever wanted: power and knowledge, more than you could ever imagine. Oh, and by the way, while that Heart Stone might make _you_ immortal—" he snapped a lash connecting all four tied ends, "—I don't think the same could be said of your _limbs_."

Neloth's eyes widened in horrified realization a split-second before Ketar heaved with all he was worth, the wizard howling in agony as his arms and legs were forcibly torn from their sockets. He was still seething in pain and rage when Ketar slowly marched toward him and got up in his face.

"Now, I'm no medical expert," said the Dragonborn, "but I'm pretty sure that with this level of dislocation, your limbs need to be repositioned, and since yours are, well…useless now, that'll have to come through the kindness of strangers. Although…" he leaned in and mock-whispered in a conspiratorial manner, "between you and me, with how you treat, well… _everyone_ , I doubt anyone will be rushing to your rescue."

He released hold over the lash spells, causing Neloth to crumple into a limp pile of flesh and bone, the wizard barely restraining a scream. Ketar caught and dragged him into a back room of the tower, vengeful fury driving his steps.

"And even if they did," he grunted, "they'd have to get you _out_ first."

"O-Out of what?" Neloth managed as Ketar hauled him upright.

"Your greatest desire," Ketar answered, bringing the wizard face-to-face with his own Black Book.

"Wh—no, no you can't!"

"You want to be Mora's pet, Neloth?"

"No, _please_!"

Ketar snarled and forced Neloth's hands to open the book. "Be my guest," he snarled.

Neloth screamed at the top of his lungs as he was sucked into the book, his remaining essence barely even visible against the bright backdrop of the tower.

Ketar gave the book and its now-transparent reader a mocking salute. "Have fun…asshole."

With his arduous task accomplished, Ketar limped his way back to the main room, retrieved his weapons, and made for Skaal Village.

…

The journey to reach Ildari Sarothril was not an easy one. It twisted and turned through an endless maze of subterranean passages, leading Bard and Serana through one ambush after another, whether that was from Ash Spawn or a strange species of magical spiders bearing the power of the elements. Just one look at the latter was enough to convince Serana that they were some sort of alchemical creation, homunculus spiders formed of magic and component pieces, and likely brought to life by the power of their creator's Heart Stone. They'd also run into a captured miner from a nearby settlement, who'd been imprisoned and experimented on by Ildari after apparently saving her.

After reading more of Ildari's journal on the way to Solstheim, Serana understood part of what those experiments entailed, but she had hesitated to tell the freed woman that her friends had all likely been turned into Ash Spawn. Now, after a challenging and protracted descent into hell, Serana and Bard burst through one final door, coming to a stop just inside a gigantic chamber at least two stories high, with what looked like a large circular altar in the center of the ground floor, where they were, and several catwalks on the second floor. That second floor was comprised of an actual tower, a wooden walkway attached to its upper exit, and a wall it was connected to that spanned the circumference of the chamber.

On either side of the altar were two magic casters, their soul gem cores glowing brightly, but not throwing any spells their way…yet. The reason for that became apparent when a white-haired Dunmer woman in Telvanni robes stepped out of the tower's upper exit.

"You've gone far enough," she said.

Serana snarled. "Not until you're dead, witch."

Ildari snorted derisively. "You got past my guards, so you have some skill, but do not think that makes you my equal. Only a _fool_ would underestimate their opponent so." She smiled madly. "However, perhaps it is opportune that you arrived here when you did. After all…" she grinned and prepared a spell in her right hand, "these sorts of things are _always_ better with an audience."

Serana cocked her head in confusion until the altar erupted in a cloud of pale yellow ash, rocks assembling together out of seemingly nowhere until she realized—the ash was transmuting itself into solid form. She might've been impressed if she wasn't horrified at the price Ildari had paid for this power. In seconds, a massive, Atronach-sized Ash Guardian stood erect before them, its floating form humming with power and ill intent.

Bard growled at her side as he extended Gungnir to its full length. "I don't know about you, but I have a magic-piercing spear with that witch's name on it."

Serana nodded at the Guardian. "I'll take this thing, then. She's all yours."

He gave her a feral grin before lunging forward, his body a silvery-blue blur as he used one hand to throw two knives at the magic casters, shattering their gems. He dashed past the Ash Guardian, sliding under its attacking swipe and leaping into a seamless backflip that carried him well over its head. Said head had the tip of Bard's spear planted into it, the blunt end used as a springboard to launch himself onto the catwalk where Ildari had just been standing. Apparently, she'd retreated into the tower after the summoning. He telepathically recalled the spear to his hand before running off to chase her down. Meanwhile, on the ground, Serana drew her sword and dagger and prepared to fight, glowing eyes widening when all around her, Ash Spawn started crawling out of the woodwork, at least a half-dozen in all.

Her jaw clenched. _This is bad. Not only am I outnumbered—they're all creatures of fire._

 _"You have an unfortunate tendency for hesitation that could impede your progress."_

Her mind suddenly filled with Bard's voice, his words flowing through her head as if he were speaking them directly into her ear.

 _"…back in the alley, you had speed and strength on those men, even if you were still poisoned. Yet you waited for them to make the first move, despite knowing you were too sluggish to counter effectively."_

Serana's jaw set as she coiled up for a lunge, targeting the closest Ash Spawn first. Her initial attack blew right past its defenses, the ebony blade of her basket-hilt piercing it through the chest, the weapon torn out vertically a moment later, effectively cutting the creature in half as she moved onto her next target. Two swung at her with axes from opposite sides, but she ducked under then and twirled both her blades in tandem, cutting their legs off at the knee. Her weapons plunged into their heads a moment later, her body flying forward and yanking them loose as the Ash Guardian surged toward her.

Its mouth spewed steaming hot ash in her direction, the vampire leaping and twist-flipping through the air. The moment her feet hit the ground, she twirled in a circle, her blades a spiral of death as she cut deep gashes in two more Ash Spawn. The Guardian advanced on her, swinging for her repeatedly, but despite its levitating abilities, its large form was too slow to land a hit on her, despite Serana feeling the heat radiating off its fists. She withdrew by the step, waiting for an opening, then twisting and spinning her body in a backward corkscrew, landing in a deep crouch as her Elven stiletto found its way back to its sheath, something else pulled from a pocket in her belt.

 _"…what about when your mother was fired upon by the caster?"_

 _"I wasn't fast enough to get there."_

 _"But you had a perfect gem focus in your belt capable of shielding her."_

Said gem was in the palm of her left hand now, and deployed a powerful spherical barrier around her body when she saw the Ash Guardian's body flare with heat and magic, the whole thing exploding in a firestorm a moment later. Its component rocks flew against and battered her shield, but thanks to repeated practice sessions on the boat rides to and from Solstheim, she'd managed to improve her technique significantly, to the point where she could barely feel the impacts. A confident grin came to her features as the barrier dispelled with a thought, leaving her free to sprint forward, her sword coming down like a guillotine when she spun her body counterclockwise in a falling diagonal strike.

The slash separated one of the Guardian's re-forming pieces, an arm, and disoriented it long enough for her to roll around its side and stab one of the injured Ash Spawn in the chest. Her armored gauntlet smashed it to pieces, her vampiric strength at its fullest with a determined fury driving her strikes. Her body spun twirled clockwise mid-deflect, her sword blocking a strike from one of the injured Spawn and her left armored boot slamming it in the face with a spinning roundhouse kick hard enough to take its head off. The final Ash Spawn was planted back-first into the ground when Serana leapt into the air and landed feet-first on its shoulder and chest.

Her sword skewered it to the ground in the same falling motion. Injured but still moving, the Ash Guardian advanced on her, its remaining pieces twirling around it in an endless spiral of rock and heat. Serana took a deep breath as she tore her blade loose, couching it hilt-first against her chest as she coiled up for a powerful thrust. She could see it, right in the hollow of its chest cavity: a glowing, beating stone. Not a Heart Stone, but something that served as the Daedra's equivalent of a heart. She waited for it to get closer, to make its move, taking and releasing deep, slow breaths until—

 _I see it!_

Her arm shot forth, her entire body lunging forward in a half-kneeling lunge that drove the ebony blade straight through the Ash Guardian's core. With a twist of her sword, Serana tore the wretched thing loose and watched as the once-imposing Daedra returned to the dust from which it came. She slowly pulled the still-beating core from the shaft of her blade, holding it in her hand for a moment before crushing it in her gauntlet and scattering the ashes across the now-empty room.

Sera smirked. _Funny how I keep crushing hearts into dust._ She looked up at the passage her werewolf companion had disappeared into. _Thank you, Bard. Speaking of whom, I wonder how he's doing…_

…

As it happened, not as well as he'd expected.

Bard had managed to chase the fleeing Ildari through a complex series of passages, dodging traps and various magic casters in his pursuit until, finally, he'd tracked her down to Highpoint Tower's inner sanctum. It was a two-leveled room with the second floor comprising a U-shaped walkway lining three of the four walls. A stone bridge connected the opposite ends of the "U," and a set of stairs at the far end of the ground floor, where Bard had entered, led up top. What he'd found upon reaching the second floor was a couple more magic casters, several explosive fire runes drawn into the ground and walls, and one very pissed-off Dunmer witch.

Oh, and Ildari had proven herself quite the duelist when she'd disarmed him of Gungnir almost immediately upon finding out that her casters' magic had no effect on it. What was worse, she'd flung it back down to the ground floor, somewhere out of his sight, and without knowing a route to guide it, he couldn't summon it back to his hand. If he tried to retrieve it manually, he left himself open to magical attack from above. Thus, how he was effectively backed into a corner by a powerful necromancer without his magic-disrupting weapon. She held the imposing form of the Mace of Molag Bal in one hand, the tip of its jagged knob pointed at Bard from across the bridge, where she'd sent him flying with some form of electrostatic magic.

"Yield, warrior," Ildari said. "That you've survived this long has earned my respect. I will grant you a quick death if you surrender. Or, perhaps…" she smirked, "you could fulfill a role as my right hand…or even _consort_."

Bard gave her a deadpan look. "What is it with me and being hit on by immortal women? Thanks, but I'm married, both to my wife _and_ my work." He reached up to the hilt of the sword on his back, gripping it firmly and twirling forty-two inches of razor-sharp, Dunmer-forged adamantium from its sheath. "And my master has ordered your destruction." He held the longsword two-handedly at his side, tip pointed toward her as he fell into a low stance. "Even if he hadn't, the horror's you've inflicted in pursuit of blind vengeance are reason enough for me to take your life."

Ildari laughed and held her arms out to the side, leaving herself wide open. "Then come and try, warrior. I welcome the challenge."

Bard smirked at her hubris and snapped his left arm up, his index pointing at the only intact magic caster. That finger tensed and curled in a particular motion that activated a section of his forearm muscles—and the compact Dwarven bolt launcher strapped on his forearm's underside. For the umpteenth time, he marveled at the technology the masons of Zhanik'la had gleaned from Dwemer Spheres as the metal bolt shattered the caster's soul gem, leaving only Ildari standing in his way. Though shaken by the sudden unleashing of a new weapon, Ildari remained steadfast and twirled her mace into a ready stance with one hand while the other prepared a shock spell.

Bard dashed across the narrow bridge, leaping diagonally for the rail on Ildari's side when she cast her spell, the lightning bolt flying past his shoulder. His boots touched down on the railing in a perfect crouch, keeping him coiled and ready to lunge for the witch herself with a passing swipe of his blade. The adamantium edge skidded and screeched off the necromancer's mace, the woman countering with a sideways swipe he ducked under, using his sword as an extra layer between him and the weapon. As Zhanikan's Lord Protector, it was his duty to familiarize himself with unusual magical items that might pose a threat to his king.

The Mace of Molag Bal was one of them.

Capable of draining both the strength and magicka of its victim, the weapon could quickly render an opponent unable to defend themselves, leaving them open and helpless to the will of its user. Which, he supposed, was exactly the point, considering its creator. Of all the Daedric Lords he'd run across over the course of his lifetime, Bard Gorshun could say with unequivocal ease that Molag Bal was the one he despised the most. Considering his history with lycanthropy, one might've assumed that Hircine was his least favorite, but the Lord of the Hunt was at least _reasonable_ when one abided by his unique code of honor.

Bal was…a _monster_ , plain and simple. Not even Serana and Valerica, perhaps the best of his children, could redeem that fact.

Two more mace-swipes were deflected before the Dunmer fired another spell, just missing him when he used his left hand to shunt her weapon aside and his right to push her hand away, sending the arcs of electricity into the fabric of her bed. Feathers and cotton exploded everywhere as the two struggled for physical dominance. For such a slim frame, this Dark Elf possessed quite a bit of strength, due, Bard suspected, to the Heart Stone imbedded in her chest. Speaking of which, in the center of her robes, there was actually a glass window where the Stone itself was visible, glowing and pulsing with red light.

All he had to do was remove it, and it was game over…but he couldn't do that. Not yet.

So he withdrew partway and planted a hard knee in her lower chest, following that with a backflip kick to her upper chest. The impact sent her back into a wall, Bard following the hit with a thrust of his sword toward her gut. Ildari spun away and smacked his blade further from her body, countering with a falling diagonal strike to his shoulder and just missing when he ducked under it. Still in a half-crouch, he spun toward Ildari, twirling his blade behind his back and building power for a rising strike that knocked the mace away from her body. His sword still held high, he brought it down in a powerful two-handed strike that the Dunmer just barely managed to avoid.

She hurled herself into a dive-roll, managing to reach the rail-less bridge and face off with him, her teeth baring in frustration. Bard just smirked and dragged the point of his sword across the stones with a quiet grind as he stalked toward her like a true wolf. He spun the blade on either side of his body in a figure-eight until it was in a vertical two-handed grip at his side. They eyed each other appraisingly for just a moment before Ildari lunged forward with a leaping thrust of her mace. Bard used the flat of his blade to knock the strike away, pushing back on it and pivoting his sword to swipe at her shoulder.

Ildari wing-blocked the strike and countered with one of her own in the opposite direction. Bard backpedaled a step and pirouetted with his sword held high, the blade held horizontally above his head in a two-handed grip to build power for a falling diagonal counter-strike. His adamantium blade skidded down the mace's shaft until it caught on one of the spikes in its head. Ildari immediately took advantage of this to thrust the jagged, spiked pommel of the mace into Bard's right wrist, where the armor was separated and vulnerable. He snarled and hissed in pain as his sword dropped into his left hand, the Lord Protector backing up as Ildari pressed her attack.

One strike after another cascaded on him, battering his defenses and forcing him back by the step until he was quite literally backed into a corner. A powerful blow separated him from his sword, and Ildari didn't hesitate to take advantage by bringing her weapon in for a crushing horizontal attack. Bard's gloved palms met the mace at its upper shaft and head, the edge of one of the jagged spikes digging into his left hand and draining his energy. Hissing and heaving for breath, Bard grimaced for just a moment as Ildari smirked in triumph.

And then he just _smiled_.

"You know," he said, chuckling softly, "up until now…I thought my talents had been wasted, being sent on this mission. Sure, the prize is certainly powerful enough to warrant my presence…but I feared you'd be an inferior opponent." He grinned at Ildari's confused features, showing all his teeth—including his especially sharp canines. "I am _very_ glad to have been wrong."

He could see the shock and rising fear in the necromancer's eyes as his own shifted from dark brown to deep, photoluminescent green. His canines grew even sharper and longer, and his jet-black hair began spreading all across his face and neck. His fingerless gloves stretched, as did the rest of his undersuit, as his armor expanded to fit his rapidly growing form. Three-inch claws of otherworldy black chitin sprang from each of his fingers, the same happening to his feet as his boots' paw-styled plates separated to permit them exit. The joints of his knees shifted and became digitigrade, his face morphing and elongating as his ears did the same.

Within the space of perhaps five seconds, the lithe, handsome form of Bard Gorshun, Avatar of Skill and Lord Protector of Zhanik'la, had morphed into a seven-foot-tall werewolf with blazing green eyes and fur black as midnight. He snarled and let out a feral, predatory growl as his grip around Ildari's mace tightened, his strength rapidly returning and his wounds healing faster than ever. The vocalization had its intended effect, as the Dunmer woman began yanking at her caught weapon in a panic. Eventually, she realized how futile that was and released it to lunge away from him, summoning her spells.

Bard roared and flung the Mace of Molag Bal at her, the witch barely managing to dodge it as it smashed against the bridge with force enough to knock one of the stones loose. Her red eyes seemed stuck in a permanently wide state, the fear in them clear as day as she unleashed her magic in an attempt to stop him.

She never even came close.

With a speed unnatural to something his size, Bard lunged and leapt from one stone to another, even latching onto a wall with his claws at some point before pouncing on the witch. He took about a half-second of sustained lightning to the chest before he had her wrists pinned to the bridge and his lower paws pinning her ankles. They came face-to-face as he roared into hers, then clamped his jaws down on her right shoulder and swung her screaming form about like a ragdoll. His neck snapped in one direction, flinging her into the edge of a stone pillar. Something cracked audibly—or a whole lot of something—as she let out a shriek of agony and terror.

Bard advanced on her with measured, predatory steps, giving her a few more seconds to attempt her magic before pouncing on her once again, this time digging his claws into her gut and slashing her limbs' connective tissue in an attempt to cripple her. It seemed to work, because after just a few swings, she fell to the ground, limp as a boned fish. Breathing heavily with the rush that followed such a rampage, Bard slowly felt his body changing as he shifted back down to human form, every single one of his injuries having vanished. He was still breathing heavily when Ildari gathered enough strength and courage to look him in the eye.

"I-It's you…isn't it?" she stammered. "You're the one he warned me about."

Bard smiled malevolently as he took a few steps closer to her. "So the old man still remembers when I killed him—that's comforting." He crouched down to her level. "I'm going to kill you now, Ildari. I'm going to make it quick, unlike the way you treated your victims." He took in a deep breath. "But first you're going to tell me about your master. You're going to tell me _exactly_ what he's planning."

Ildari shuddered with fear, taking in a ragged breath. "If I do…when I die…you know what he'll do to my soul."

"Of course, but that's the risk you accepted when you sided with him. And trust me, especially for 'immortals'…" he reached out to one of her torn limbs, pulling at it just enough to make her eyes water, "there are fates _far_ worse than death."

She shuddered and trembled violently.

"Now…" Bard's eyes briefly pulsed with green as he snarled, "tell me about Melekith."

…

Serana entered the room not five minutes later and found Bard in the same spot, standing over the lifeless corpse of Ildari Sarothril one floor up, on one end of a bridge. The Mace of Molag Bal sat on the ground just below.

"Ildari," she said, "is she—"

Bard looked to her and nodded.

Serana chewed her lower lip. "Did you get what you need from her?"

He nodded again, sheathing the sword in his hand and leaping down to her level. "I did." His eyes darted about, a look of recognition flashing on his face. "Ah—there you are." Gungnir flew back to his hand and collapsed into baton form as he approached Serana. "I also got _this_." He held out the Heart Stone he'd no doubt torn from her chest, his lips pursing. "Would you like to keep it?"

Serana gave him a look, her blood chilling slightly. "Why would I?"

Bard shrugged. "Souvenir? Nostalgia?" He frowned a little as his gaze intensified. "Surgery?"

Her eyes widened in realization as she turned her gaze to the Heart Stone in his hand. She stared at it blankly, mind running in a thousand different directions as she held her hand out palm-up. Bard hesitantly dropped it into her grip, watching her closely as her eyes never left the Stone. Her mind flashed to the Ash Spawn she'd come across, to the sole survivor of that mining town they'd rescued. She remembered the madness in Ildari's eyes when she'd declared her superiority. And…she remembered the words of a wise man, spoken what felt so long ago…

 _"Just because I don't want to change what I am doesn't mean I look down on those who are different."_

 _But…it could save you, keep you alive and with me forever._

 _"Just because I don't want to change what I am…"_

Her grip tightened around the Stone.

 _"I don't want to change what I am."_

And with a heavy sigh of resignation and—more importantly—decision, she held the Stone out to Bard with a shake of her head. "No."

His head cocked partway. "Why not? You know what this could do for him. It could make him ageless, immortal. You'd have forever, like you wanted."

Serana's lips pursed tightly. "I've seen what these Stones do to people, what they did to Ildari. They've caused enough pain, Bard…and if there's even a _chance_ that what happened to her could happen to Kay…" her head shook again, more firmly, "I'd rather lose him a thousand times to old age than watch him become that. I'll _never_ ask him to sacrifice who he is, not for all the time in the world."

Bard eyed her carefully for a few more seconds, his gaze alternating between her eyes, and then he smiled widely, in an almost fatherly manner as he took the Heart Stone from her grasp. "Good choice."

To Serana's surprise, the warmth she felt from that compliment was the very same she'd experienced while learning potions with her mother.

A second after coming to this realization, Bard dropped the Stone on the ground at his feet and extended Gungnir to its full length, plunging its magic-breaking head into its red center and shattering it, ending its power for good. Serana took a deep breath, a weight she hadn't known she'd been carrying lifting off her shoulders with it.

"You look like a woman who's just made up her mind."

The vampire looked back up to meet his eyes. "I have."

Bard arched a curious eyebrow. "And may I ask what that decision might be?"

She grinned. "If he'll have me…you'll be the first to get an invitation."

He chuckled and grinned. "Well in that case, I'll be on the lookout. Now go find your man."

Serana huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "Where would I even _start_? I mean…it's been over a week. He could be _anywhere_."

"How about starting where you left him?"

She shrugged. "I guess that's as good a place as any." Her lips pursed and eyes narrowed as she glared into the distance. "And if _she's_ there, it'll give me the perfect opportunity to voice something I've been trying to put into words all day."

Bard let out a small laugh. "Whoever she is, I almost feel sorry for this woman."

Serana smiled, showing her upper fangs. "As well you should." She blinked and waved to him as he led the way out. "What about you? Are you going back to Skyrim?"

"I am, but don't worry about transportation." He smirked. "I have my own way off Solstheim."

Serana was openly curious, but she didn't ask. If he didn't want to volunteer information, she wouldn't push, and besides…she had more important matters to attend to.

…

The look on Frea's face when Ketar came limping back to Skaal Village was…about what he'd expected. So was her verbal reaction.

"What in the sixteen planes of Oblivion happened to you?!"

Ketar smirked and arched a brow at her. "Nice to see you too, Frea."

"Did you…and Neloth…"

"Yeah," he chuckled, jerking a thumb behind him to indicate the direction of Tel Mithryn, "you should've seen the other guy."

She blinked several times, huffing in disbelief, then motioned him toward the village center. "Come, I've summoned my father."

"Good," he replied, "he's exactly the person I need to speak to."

They approached Storn together, the shaman regarding Ketar with a grave expression. "You have seen dark things, haven't you?"

Ketar's jaw tightened. "Darker than you could believe. Miraak was…married to a Skaal woman." His eyes turned downward. "She turned against him when he went mad with power and…he murdered her when he found out." He gulped hard. "Her name was Lizette."

Storn sighed hard, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry…for what you must've had to endure to be so deeply wounded, but it is…comforting to know that another of our people stood up to Miraak's tyranny."

Ketar cracked a small smile before remembering why he was here. "I learned something else from that book, and I'm afraid you're not gonna like it."

The shaman took in a deep breath. "Speak."

"I spoke to Hermaeus Mora. He asked for the 'secrets of the Skaal.'" He nodded to Storn. "And he said _you_ were the only one who'd know what he meant."

Storn's faced paled as he turned away and began pacing. "Hermaeus Mora...old Herma-Mora himself. So _he_ is the source of Miraak's power." His head shook slowly as he stared off into the distance. "Of course. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him."

"In return for the final Word of the Shout I need to stop Miraak once and for all…that is his price."

Storn nodded slowly, frowning at the ground. "So it falls to me to be the one to give up our secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him. The Tree Stone is still corrupted...the land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored...it may be enough. It will have to be."

Ketar blinked rapidly. "Wait…you mean…you're just gonna give in?"

He took a breath and turned to face Ketar. "Yes. The Skaal also tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Herma-Mora finally wins. As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up." His lips pursed. "I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me." His old, tired eyes roved around the run-down homes of Skaal Village, the fear and uncertainty as thick in the air as it was in Miraak's memories. "But I will not stand by and watch my people fall over old lore." His gaze returned to Ketar, eyes hard. "Give me the book. I will read it, and speak to old Herma-Mora myself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain."

Ketar's eyes stung as he remembered the last Skaal elder he'd seen—mind torn apart and rendered virtually lifeless by Miraak's will. "You are a braver than most I've ever met, Storn. May Akatosh bless you for that…whatever happens next."

The shaman smiled warmly as he took the book from Ketar's hands.

Ketar didn't release it until he gave one final word. "I promise you: I will not let your people fall."

Storn nodded firmly, the book in his grip as he moved to the center of the village square, far from everyone else, should something go awry. He took a deep breath, giving his home, and his daughter, one last look before moving to open the book.

In the split-second before the front cover opened fully, Ketar felt a tug in the back of his head. He could just make out the echo of a whisper in a warm, familiar voice.

 _"He came to believe that just because he had my blessing, he was untouchable, and defied my will with a reckless decision that cost him dearly."_

More memories flooded in, like a torrent of fatherly counsel.

 _"Seeking vengeance, he came to me for more power, but I refused to assist him in a mission that would compromise my efforts…_

 _"…like all power so quickly and recklessly attained, it backfired…_

 _"Don't you get it? The innocent_ always _pay along with the guilty."_

Then he heard his father's voice clear as day, though he couldn't tell whether he was actually being spoken to, or his fragile mental state simply recalled his words to another, older son.

 _"Be strong, son. The road will only get harder from here, but I promise, if you endure…you_ will _find peace, and reward beyond anything you can imagine."_

And with that…Ketar had the answer to the question he'd never even bothered to ask. The tug pulsed with a familiar warmth, and somehow, he felt his father smile.

 _"I love you, son."_

Ketar's dark eyes slipped shut as a wide smile creased his lips. _I love you too, Father._

When they snapped open, he lunged forward and hurled Storn away from the book, opening his rift right as it opened fully and four large tentacles shot forth toward the shaman. They entered the rift instead, the golden sundial serving as a makeshift shield between Storn and Hermaeus Mora's murderous intent. When the tentacles retracted, nothing came out of the rift, and it took Ketar a second to realize the ends were completely burnt off. The massive eye and tentacles of Mora himself emerged in the air just behind the book, the lid blinking slowly as its owner hummed in thought.

"Hmm…well…there's a plot twist."

Ketar's eyes were hard as steel. "This is over, Mora. I'm done with you."

"I believe we had an arrangement, Dragonborn."

"Then I relieve you of your end. Keep your knowledge. I don't want it."

"And what, pray tell, led you to this decision?"

"None of your damn business."

"Need I remind you that without this final Word, you will never be able to surpass Miraak?"

Ketar smiled. "And yet, that's what I've just come to realize. I don't _need_ to surpass him. I just need to _stop_ him. And I've already done that by permanently crippling his hold over the All-Maker Stones. With his control of the populace neutralized—and his agent here permanently crippled—Miraak will never be able to produce the power necessary to open a portal and return from Apocrypha." His smile turned predatory. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you? That's why you tried to set me on this path."

Frea and her father glanced between, looking as confused as they probably should've been.

"See, you may want to cast Miraak aside because he's gotten too big for his britches, but it's like you said: even if he wins, he still serves you. And the only power source he can access that's capable of bringing him back…is the souls of slain dragons."

"Dov," said Storn, "what exactly are you getting at?"

Ketar's upper lip twitched. "I'm getting at the fact that old 'Herma-Mora' here has been playing both sides from the moment I cleansed the Stones. Without those to power his portal, or Neloth, his agent here, to reestablish the connection, he needs the souls of slain dragons to compensate for the massive draw in energy required. Now that I've discovered a way to _yank_ those souls from his grasp whenever he tries to steal them, the only way he can ever return is by absorbing a single, incredibly powerful one." His eyes narrowed. "Mine. You wanted me to grow strong enough to face him so that when we fought, you'd win no matter the outcome.

"If I killed him, you'd have a new champion beholden to you for handing him victory. If I'd failed, Miraak would return to wreak havoc on the world once more, and your influence would carry to the ends of Tamriel." Ketar smiled nastily. "But I'm not playing your game anymore. You want your champion? You can _keep_ him…" he finally allowed the rift to collapse, reaching out to take the floating book, "because I'm done trying to live up to his legend. The deal's off, Mora. Now go back to hell."

He slammed the book shut without giving the Daedra a chance to retort, turning to the Nords who were staring at him agape. Ketar held the book out to Storn, the old man numbly taking it from his grasp as he opened his rift and pulled _Waking Dreams_ out and handed him that one as well.

"I realize you want nothing to do with these books," said Ketar, "but…after discovering what happened to Miraak…" he frowned deeply, "my father was right. He and I are _far_ more alike than I'm comfortable admitting. The truth is, I don't trust myself not to look and fall prey to them as he did."

Storn nodded firmly. "I understand completely. The Skaal will guard these dangerous objects with our lives, until such time as we decide they are better kept elsewhere."

Ketar sighed, his shoulders sagging with relief as a massive weight he'd felt since Apocrypha was lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you, Storn." He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar nervously. "In the uh…meantime, do you have somewhere I can touch up? These clothes are a bit um… _scorched_."

Storn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "For what you've done, my boy…you can have the finest room in the mead hall."

Ketar smiled and gave him a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."

…

Lady Nocturnal must _really_ have loved Serana, because it was a stroke of pure luck that she arrived when she did. Why? Because both Frea _and_ Ketar were in Skaal Village…and they were both alone. Though she ached to see her beloved, more fiercely than ever before, Serana's steps took her to the room in their mead hall where she'd find the Nord, the blonde sharpening her metal axe with a satisfied air about her.

"Hope I'm not interrupting something," Serana said in a lilting tone.

Frea stiffened and whirled around, her eyes wide. "Serana. I…was not expecting you."

She gave the other woman a predatory smile. "No one ever does."

The blonde cocked her head and crossed her arms, that same smug smirk coming to her lips. "So…did you…take all the time you needed to 'think'?"

Serana felt the same irritation and urge to _strangle_ as last time, but kept her fury contained in the sunset orange of her eyes as she took a few measured steps toward her. "Oh, I did, and I came to a few realizations. Specifically regarding how I feel about little blonde tomboy tramps trying to flirt with my Ketar."

Frea snorted derisively. "Please. If he was yours, you wouldn't have left."

She bowed her head slightly. "You have a point. Last time I was here, I felt something missing from our relationship, some critical bond that tied us together. But after all this time, I realized it was on _my_ end, not his." She smiled. "You see, he gave me his heart _months_ ago, and I hesitated then too, because I was afraid. Of what, I wasn't sure…but now I am, and I realized…it's a foolish, pointless fear." She strutted toward Frea, swaying her hips with a confident air. "So, even if you were right, and Ketar _wasn't_ mine…he _will_ be.

"You see…I'm going to _marry_ him, and I'm going to hold his hand as he carries me across the threshold of _our_ house, take him to _our_ bed, and I'm going to _make_ him mine in every way imaginable." Serana chuckled lowly, staring at the ground. "I imagine we'll probably need a new headboard when we're done." She returned her gaze to Frea's startled features, taking another step toward her. "So, you see…he's already mine." Her eyes flashed with fire, the small, predatory smile never leaving her face. "And if you've got a problem with that—"

She threw one of her armored gauntlets in the Nord's face, the girl's reflexes allowing her to catch it just before impact.

"—then we can settle it. Right here, right now."

Frea stared at the glove, then at Serana's iron countenance. And then she smiled. "At last…I never saw that fire in your eyes the _last_ time you were here."

Sera snorted derisively and got even closer. "Oh please. Don't try to play it off like you had some great benevolent goal this whole time. You threw yourself at Kay because the pickings for men in this frozen wasteland are so slim." She smiled, her tone sickly sweet as she daintily gripped the thrown gauntlet. "Take my advice, _sweetie_ , and expand your horizons." Her smile dropped, a furious snarl finally showing as she snapped the glove from Frea's hand and got up in her face. "Because _this_ one's _mine_."

 _This_ time, there was no defiance, no opposition in Frea's eyes; only a pure, cold fear. And, as she took a step back and turned her eyes down, submission.

Serana's predatory smile returned. "Good dog."

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and a familiar voice reached her ears.

"Frea, I'm heading o—"

Serana slowly turned, a beatific look on her face as her heart sang with joy. "Kay…"

Her voice was barely a whisper, and completely breathless. She didn't care. She loved this man with everything she had and a lot she didn't. She could _afford_ to be a little breathless.

He just stared at her openmouthed, even more shocked than Frea had been. "Sera…you came back." His eyes darted to Frea, looking between them randomly as he frowned curiously. "What exactly did I just walk in on?"

Serana smiled wider and approached him. "Oh nothing, dear." She looked over her shoulder at Frea. "Just a friendly chat between women." Her eyes narrowed dangerously, satisfied to see the blonde pale and gulp. Her head snapped back to Ketar a moment later. "Are you done here?"

Ketar cocked his head slightly. "In Solstheim or this room?"

She arched an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips and nodded emphatically. "Yep, totally done."

"Great," she replied, grabbing his hand, "then let's go home."

"But—I was gonna say goodbye to—"

She pulled harder.

"—oookay, we're leaving." His head snapped toward Frea, expression going serious for a moment. "Remember, Frea…remember the Greybeards."

The Nord gulped and nodded firmly.

Serana cast a glance back at them, wondering what he was talking about, but dismissed it in favor of dragging him all the way back to Raven Rock.

…

Whether by the will of the gods or yet another good stroke of luck, it was just reaching sunset by the time the _Northern Maiden_ had reached the open sea. The whole way back to Raven Rock, Serana had been catching him up on the happenings since she'd left, on her adventures with Bard and her mother, and the… _whipping_ the former had given Dirge. During that time, he'd barely said a word, just holding her hand and listening with this tiny smile on his face. And for a while, she'd been happy to just keep talking, but now…

Now she was nervous, uneasy, with a thousand butterflies flying around in her stomach, because he was being reserved—well, more so than usual—and she had the sinking feeling it was because of her. Truth be told, it probably was, and that wasn't just her fear talking. She hadn't understood just how much she'd hurt him until she'd seen and heard the quiet anger in Bard's reaction. And now, to see the way he looked at her, like he expected her to be there one second and gone the next…it would be an understatement to say she was worried.

But she'd already made up her mind.

Even if he was reserved, even if he rejected her advances at first, she would make him hers, and make sure he knew she was his…even if she had to propose herself. She'd even considered getting her own Amulet of Mara and risk wearing it to open this conversation, buuut eventually decided that would be going _way_ overboard after being apart for over a week. As she approached Ketar's silent form, his eyes gazing out into the sunset—and gazing directly at the sun, if she guessed correctly—Serana sidled up next to him, nervously toying with her hands.

"So," she started awkwardly.

His eyes flickered to her, that same tiny smile on his lips. "So."

"Been a crazy week for both of us, huh?"

"Yep."

Serana gulped at his one-word answers, pursing her lips as she tried very hard to maintain eye contact with him. "I uh…I've had a lot of time to think, being away." She rubbed the back of her neck, hot under his mindful gaze. "Which," she laughed nervously, "I guess was the whole point."

"I'd assumed as much."

His calm, almost detached tone was _not_ helping her nerves. "And, well, I talked to my mother…and Bard…and…"

Serana held his gaze for a few more seconds before exhaling hard and breaking eye contact. She started pacing, her once-ordered thoughts jumbled and all over the place. Ketar just patiently waited for her to speak.

"Okay," she said finally, "okay, I was _really_ not okay with Frea flirting with you. I was jealous and insecure, and I left when you needed me, and I'm sorry."

The words kind of just tumbled out, but they were mostly what she'd wanted to say.

At her utterance, Ketar's eyebrows shot skyward, his face the perfect picture of disbelief and denial. "Wha—no—no way. She's just a friend, doesn't even _think_ about me that way."

Serana just stared. "What?"

"I'm _serious_ , Sera. It's not like that."

She blinked once, twice, then huffed, letting out a long breath as she slowly shook her head. "Oh my gods…you really are the most oblivious man in existence."

"Why thank you."

"That _wasn't_ a compliment."

He gave her a look that said "really?" "I was being sarcastic."

Serana pouted, giving his face a long look before she saw it: a twitch at the corner of his lips, ever so slight, but just noticeable enough to give rise to a suspicion that only grew by a second. Her eyes narrowed, an accusing finger slowly coming up to point at him. "You…you _knew_! You knew all along what was up with her!"

At that, the twitch increased sharply, and a heartbeat later, he was cackling in side-stitching laughter—at her expense, of course. When he'd finally calmed enough to speak, he said, "Sera, half the women in _Skyrim_ have thrown themselves at me at some point. If I couldn't recognize the signs after all that, then I really _would_ be the most oblivious man alive."

Serana sighed hard and shook her head as he just kept laughing. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

His laughter rapidly calmed. "Because I literally couldn't feel a thing for her if I tried—you can thank my dad for that." His smile faded to a frown. "And…because I never imagined you'd be so insecure about us that…you'd see her as a threat." He sighed hard. "That one's on me."

"Maybe…but I decided to leave."

Ketar smiled ruefully. "So I guess mistakes were made on both sides, huh?"

"Yeah…" Sera frowned. "Though I have to wonder…would you want to?"

"Huh? Want to what?"

"Feel anything for her. You mentioned that you couldn't get attached to Frea like that if you tried." She looked down and away, hugging herself. "Is that…why you're with me? Because you can't love anyone else?"

Ketar's eyes widened in horror. "Oh…" he drew closer, wiping away tears she hadn't known she'd shed, "oh Sera…no. No-no-no, it's not like that, I swear."

She sniffled, waiting for him to explain.

He sighed, looking away with his lips pursed. "It's…how do I explain this…" His eyes met hers, a warmth radiating through those deep blues. "Excuse my crudeness, but…you've got it ass-backwards."

Sera blinked. "What?"

"What I mean is…you're the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman I've ever met, and no one could ever replace you."

"I'm not brave. I…I wasn't even brave enough to tell you why I really left."

He caressed her cheek. "Then tell me now, love." He smiled ruefully. "Trust me, after the week I've had, I can take _anything_."

She gulped hard. "I'm immortal…and you're not."

Ketar stared at her for a second, eyes widening as the pieces slowly fell into place. " _Oh_."

"That's why—"

"That's why you rejected my proposal…not because you hate temples."

Serana rolled her eyes. "Well, that too, but…it was a convenient excuse."

"And what about now?"

She closed her eyes and smiled, her vision flickering with the faces of Bard and Valerica. She met his gaze a moment later. "I've made my peace with it."

Ketar's gaze flowed with tenderness and affection as he gently caressed her face. "You see that? _That_ is why I could never attach myself to someone like Frea. Because yes, you're afraid, but you power through it anyway to make the right decision. So you see, you've got it all backwards. I'm not with you because I can't love anyone else." He cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes. "I can't love anyone else because I'm with you."

Serana felt her knees buckle as his words were reflected in his eyes, their deep blue shining with the golden reflection of the setting sun as he drew closer to her, his lips almost touching hers until—

She snapped back to reality and placed a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His startled expression pushed her to work past the lump in her throat and speak.

"Wait—just—just wait, there's…"

She gulped hard and pulled away from him, pacing a bit and fixing her hair, noticing absently that the crew weren't as active as they normally were. Finally feeling that her braid was back in place and everything was as perfect as it was going to be, she turned to face him and let out a long breath.

Serana smiled. "Okay. I'm ready."

He blinked and stared at her in confusion. "Ready for…what?"

She smiled wider. "For you to ask."

Another slow blink. "Ask what?"

Sera stared at him, feeling her already-high anxiety building to a fever pitch. "Kay…do I really have to spell this out?"

He snorted. "Apparently."

She fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Come on, love, there are a million questions I could ask you right now. Can you be more specific?"

"Oh _you_ come on! We were _literally_ just talking about this!"

Ketar just stared at her dumbly.

Serana groaned and stumbled forward to faceplant into his chest. "Ugh…you are _so_ not making this easy."

He just stood there ramrod-straight until a deep breath left his lungs and his arms came up to encircle her shoulders. "I know," he said softly, a hint of mirth in his tone, "but to be fair…" he drew back, tipping her chin up to meet his tender eyes, "you _started_ it."

Before she had the time to process his words or react to them, his hands drifted to her arms, one dipping into a pouch at his belt as he slowly sank to one knee. Her eyes went as wide as they could go, no breath passing her lips as her heart stopped. Her gaze never left his for an instant, neither of them blinking as he drew a ring from his pocket, a plain black steel, but shined to a high polish, with a garnet the color of her eyes. His voice flashed through her head from a memory, the memory of the first gift he'd ever given her: the sword that had remained with her ever since.

 _"This_ is _what people do when they start courting, right? Give each other gifts? Besides…_ _black is_ your _color too."_

Ketar's voice from the past melded with that of the present as he smiled up at her with every scrap of love and trust he'd always shown her, with everything she could ever want and never knew she needed. "Serana Volkihar…"

Her heart stopped along with everything else.

"…will you marry me?"

She was shaking. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry, all at once. Probably would've, too, if she didn't know that once all _that_ got started, she wouldn't stop for at least an hour…and he'd waited for her answer long enough. Thus, her next word was a breathless, unreserved—

"Yes."

The whole deck was completely silent as his smile widened to a full grin, as she reached out her left hand and watched him slip the ring onto her finger, still feeling all those warring emotions clashing within her, but one overwhelming all the others as he rose to his feet. Ketar held her hands, her eyes still locked onto the ring until she looked up to meet his loving gaze.

With a small moment of hesitation and a cute smile, he bit his lower lip and asked, "Can I kiss you now?"

Serana blinked, and like that, the waterworks broke free. As did her laughter. And squeals of joy. Laughing squeals punctuated with tears of joy. Yeah…she'd go with that. And yeah, like she'd predicted, she couldn't say a word, so she just nodded emphatically. With a grin brighter and warmer than the sun, Ketar leaned in and claimed her lips, claimed _her_ , at long last. They held each other for a long time, suspended in that timeless moment for who knows how long until they finally came up for air, both their cheeks stained with a deep blush.

She suspected said blush was for twofold reasons. First, that they hadn't felt that physical connection in over a week. And second, well…she could only speak strictly for herself, but right then, Serana was imagining the now very-real possibility of getting this disgustingly gorgeous man in bed—with nothing between them this time. The image was… _delightful_ , buuuut…she'd keep that thought to herself for now. Based on the raucous applause that erupted seconds after they broke apart, there'd be plenty to embarrass them both on the way back.

As suddenly as it began, the clapping ended, and one of the crew broke out a lute while another played a flute, striking up the same upbeat tune they'd danced to that night in Jorrvaskr. They exchanged a long look, and by the look in his eyes, he'd recognized it as well. Serana grinned and stepped away from him, giving him a "come hither" motion with her right index with a smoky look in her eyes. As expected, he broke out in a blush, but grinned back and returned the same look in her direction as he advanced on her with confident steps.

As they'd both learned during their time apart, tomorrow's problems would have to worry for themselves, because they lived _today_. Tomorrow, they'd handle plans for the future, for Alduin and—Shor help them—the _wedding_. But tonight…tonight they would dance, together, unrestrained, uninhibited by fear.

As they always should have been, and henceforth always would be.

* * *

AN: Ah…screw it. I'm not splitting this chapter up. I realize is it LONG AS CRAP, literally the LONGEST chapter I've ever written, but there's no good break point in the center, and I promised you guys I'd close out this arc in this chapter. Yeah. I…literally worked on this all night immediately after releasing chapter 11, soooo…if there are any mistakes, please be forgiving. I couldn't stop myself.

I've been up for almost 24 hours at this point and writing non-stop for about twelve of those. My head is buzzing with the greatest writer's high I've ever experienced, and my hands hurt like hell. But…HOLY CRAP this was so totally worth it. If the length bothers you at all…just think of it as a season finale, 'kay? They have super long ones of those, right?

Anyway…yeah, I've got nothing more to say. Imma let you guys run with this. I'm exhausted and wired at the same time. All I'll say is that I've wanted to write this chapter SO badly ever since I split Kay and Sera, and…I hope I've done you all, and myself, justice.

Drake out.

P.S.: If there are any dragon translations I forgot to make…I'll handle them tomorrow. I'm beat. Good night all.

Musical Inspirations:

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword – Run Londinium: start-4:02—entering Highpoint Tower/Agmaer and Brelyna vs. Salonia/explosion at point-blank

Dragon Age: Inquisition – Orb of Destruction: start-0:47—face-off with Salonia/split-second decision, 0:47-end—mastering the Amulet of Riving/"I have the will!"/disintegration

V for Vendetta – Knives and Bullets (and Cannons Too): 2:30-3:25—face-off with Ildari/Ash Guardian/Bard takes off, 3:24-4:30—Serana squares up/unstoppable flow/crushed heart

Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag – Ends of the Earth: start-0:48—"I'm immortal…and you're not"/"can't love anyone else…", 0:48-1:53—Sera flounders/"you started it"/ebony band, 1:53-end—Serana's answer/"Can I kiss you now?"/end of chapter


	13. Homecoming

To say that Dolotlah was alarmed by the condition her two young charges were in when they emerged from Salonia's cave would have been a drastic understatement.

"What in Akatosh's name happened to you?" demanded the dragon as she stomped toward them. "I heard blasting from out here, with one particularly strong one, and then nothing."

The pair just gave her a tired look, Brelyna speaking up first. "Don't ask. Really…just don't."

Despite Agmaer's initial insistence on taking care of her, Brelyna had been in much better physical shape than her companion after a minute or two of rest. Well…rest and kisses, a great combination. As such, she was the one supporting him, though he was by no means dead weight. And despite some significant blood loss, and what was sure to be more than a few broken bones, he was still awake and coherent enough to reach out and drop the bloodied Amulet of Riving in front of Dolotlah.

The dragon stared at it, then shifted her gaze to his face, the left side of which was covered in dried and fresh blood. His left eye wasn't even visible at this point.

Dolotlah took him in for a moment before her features shifted in regret. "I underestimated you, boy, and yet foisted the responsibility for my failure onto your shoulders. I am truly sorry. Please, allow me to assist you."

Agmaer blinked curiously as the dragon drew up onto her hind legs and took a breath.

" _Laas-Gron-Dein_!"

Dolotlah's Shout carried over the pair in waves of cool turquoise, and immediately, both straightened a little. Aches and pains persisted another moment or two before they faded to the back of their minds. Agmaer could feel the scratches on his face seal shut and his bones realign. He felt like new. Well, almost. Trying to test his range of motion, a twinge in his lower chest caused him to bend over partway and hiss in pain. Brelyna's bare hand was on his back in an instant, the girl hovering over him supportively. It made him smile.

As soon as his breathing stabilized, Brelyna looked up at the dragon. "Thank you. What was that? I've never heard that Shout before."

Dolotlah lowered her body to its usual flattened position to get a better look at Agmaer's body. "Something I created as a means of repairing battle wounds and restoring one's strength. Take care, young one; mortals are ill-suited to such rapid regeneration, especially ones with little magical talent. Try to move too much or too fast, and you'll reopen your wounds."

Agmaer nodded slowly and managed a smile. "Thank you."

The dragon frowned. "It's the least I could do for the service you've performed." Her slitted green eyes turned to the Amulet of Riving, narrowing in rage as smoke poured from her nostrils. "As for this accursed thing, I must take it somewhere it can do no more damage."

"You have any ideas?" asked Brelyna.

She smiled and scraped her left wing's talon over it, dragging it through the dirt. "One. The heart of Red Mountain."

The Dunmer's eyes widened.

"From what I understand, the volcano is still active."

She nodded. "It is."

Dolotlah grunted. "If the heat does not destroy it, it will at least ensure no one else can access its dark power. However, you two don't look in any shape to be traveling alone." She leaned down. "Climb on my back, and I will take you wherever you need to go."

Brelyna frowned and looked at Agmaer, gently wiping the blood from around his eye. She gasped and held a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet.

Agmaer blinked with his good eye. "What?"

"It's," she choked. "I…I'll find a way to fix this, okay?"

He blinked again. "Fix _what_?"

"Agmaer…your left eye is…damaged, for lack of a better term. The lid is open and the eye is clear, it's just…it's just not working."

A slow gulp passed through his throat. "I'm surprised her Shout didn't heal it."

Brelyna's jaw tightened. "Truthfully, there's…not much left to heal."

His stomach dropped painfully, and he suddenly felt lightheaded, swaying a bit on his feet.

Brelyna reached out and steadied him with a grunt. "We'll go to the College, talk to Colette. I'll find a way to fix this, all right?" She frowned and looked around, tearing a piece of her hood off and tying it around his head to cover the damaged eye. "For now, let's just keep that eye out of harm's way."

Dolotlah leaned her head down again. "You've decided on a destination?"

The Dunmer mage nodded as she helped Agmaer get on the dragon's neck. "The College of Winterhold. I need to see a friend."

…

The first thing Serana was aware of upon reaching consciousness was warmth. A thick, heavy blanket of warmth laid around her shoulders, over her back and around her sides, reaching around her midriff and going all the way down to her legs. She noticed it immediately because, for the past week or so, every time she'd laid down to sleep, she could never get quite enough warmth, no matter how tightly she bundled herself up or how many layers she kept on. But now…

 _Mmmm…I could stay like this all day._

And it _was_ daytime. She could tell that much quite easily, because the thing that woke her up was a ray of bright sunlight streaming in through a crack between the wooden beams of the room. Slowly, lazily, her eyes slid open, spotting where the light had fallen and staring for a while in blankness. It was a few seconds after that she realized exactly _why_ she felt so warm, when her right thumb rubbed absently against something by her midriff. Something warm and hard and— _oh gods_ she'd forgotten how muscular he was. A sudden wave of heat washed over her from the head down, pooling in a region that hadn't seen attention in over a thousand years.

Serana released a languid sigh and snuggled back into his embrace, drawing his arm even more tightly around her and keeping it there with both hands. Only a week had passed since he'd held her like this, and for all that…she'd almost forgotten how good it felt, how _right_ it felt. And to think she'd never have experienced that deprivation if she'd just stopped focusing on what he _wasn't_ and appreciated the golden find he _was_.

 _How could I_ ever _have risked this for something so foolish?_ She pushed even closer to him, fingers tightening around his arm. _I swear, I'll never run off like that again, Kay. Never._

Serana smiled and closed her eyes, satisfied to just lay in the moment. If only that insufferable sunlight would cooperate for once…

With a small, almost inaudible groan, she turned around in his arms and pressed her face into his chest, getting as little light as possible. A moment later, his arms tightened around her of their own accord, and she felt his lips on the crown of her head. Her smile widened, a giddy feeling rising in her chest making her want to giggle like a schoolgirl. She didn't (that would've been _far_ too undignified), but still, the urge was there and it was a little frightening, being reminded of just how easily and powerfully he could affect her. In the end, though, it was frightening in the "unknown, unexplored" kind of way—in her opinion the best kind.

Sera couldn't tell how long they laid there in the captain's quarters, taking solace and pleasure in each other's arms. When they finally did move, it was just far apart enough to see each other's faces. Serana looked up at him, seeing a smile on his lips and shining in his eyes. Behind those eyes, though, there was…something else. She couldn't be sure, but she'd seen that haunted look before only a few times. Once, when he'd recounted the tale of his disastrous duel with Alduin; and then, more importantly, when he'd told Delphine the story of his vampirism with Serana in the room.

She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"Morning, beautiful," he whispered against her lips, his breath ghosting against them.

Serana grinned and kissed him soundly in return greeting, nuzzling his neck and shoulder and staying cuddled up against him.

"How'd you sleep?"

A contented hum was her only answer.

Ketar chuckled. "That well, huh? Can't imagine why."

Her grip tightened around his body. "I missed my pillow."

He paused for a second before breaking out into laughter. "So I'm a 'pillow' now? Is _that_ all I'm good for?"

Serana backed up just enough for him to see her face as she pouted a little. "Well, I'd _like_ to use you as my personal corkscrew, but apparently I can't do that just yet."

As expected, his eyes went to double their usual size and his face went red as a cherry. He was _definitely_ awake now. "Your personal… _what_?"

Serana pressed her face back into his chest to intentionally muffle her words. "Nothing dear."

"…"

She couldn't help laughing into his chest, over and over in giddy elation. She was betrothed—no, _engaged_. Yeah, that sounded better. More fun. This impossible, immovable, incomparable man had proposed to her and she said yes. She was going to marry him. _He_ was going to marry _her_. Oh gods—she was going to be his wife, and given that she'd spent the last thousand years completely celibate (and he was a virgin plagued by self-inflicted repression…the stiff), she wouldn't take motherhood off the table. Even _she_ started to burn up at that particular thought as she looked up into his frightened eyes.

Serana was sure that if he hadn't been lost in his thoughts, he'd have seen the same look in her eyes. What if he didn't want kids? What if he lost interest in her once her belly started showing? Or after, if there were lasting effects?

 _Whoa now—take a step back, Serana. He_ just _proposed last night. A little early to be thinking about kids, eh?_

Though, just one look at him, one good feel of his… _everything_ , and something raw and primal triggered inside her that, when considered, roughly translated to: "I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES." Oh dear Akatosh, she _was_ going senile, wasn't she? Or having some middle-aged "biological clock" moment…or something. Serana mentally smacked herself, trying to snap herself out of it.

 _Amazing. One little proposal and suddenly you're planning out the rest of your life with him._

Though, to be fair…that _was_ what they were about to do, wasn't it? Before, yeah, they shared pretty much everything, but the moment he dropped to one knee, the moment he slipped that ring on her finger, everything changed. It was like the risks, rewards, and anxiety had all tripled overnight, because they were for real now. It was _binding_ , or at least about to be. In retrospect, maybe that had been one of her concerns when she turned him down the first time, the idea of being tied down, shackled to someone like a prisoner. It had taken a week of separation and Bard and Valerica to shake that notion and make her understand what was in front of her the whole time: an opportunity.

For the first time, she understood exactly what her mother meant about "forever" from a mortal's point of view. She looked into her future and didn't see shackles or walls or limitations. She saw an endless sea of _possibility_ , and that both thrilled and terrified her. With the benefit of hindsight, perhaps it had been for the best she hadn't accepted his first proposal. The person she'd been before they left for Solstheim hadn't been nearly mature enough to handle this properly. Centuries of life with even more spent asleep, and yet she felt as uncertain as a newborn taking their first steps.

But again—overthinking. She knew from experience that overthinking led to anxiety, anxiety to fear, and fear to hesitation. Bard had been absolutely right. That was a habit she _really_ needed to kick. Speaking of whom…

Serana blinked up at Ketar, who was staring off into the distance and absently stroking her hair. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Do you think you could call one of your ravens from out here?"

Ketar frowned and shook his head. "Even if I could, I wouldn't risk it. A bird that size flying over this much open water could be at risk if a storm starts up. Why?"

"I just…wanted to send Bard a message. Find a way to thank him."

"Thank him for what?"

Serana smirked. "I'll have you know, mister, that he is one of two—well technically three—very important reasons I accepted your proposal last night."

Ketar's eyebrows hiked upward. "Oh really? You confided in _him_ of all people?"

She frowned. "What do you mean, 'of all people'?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. First time you met, you seemed pretty on edge around each other. Or at least you were with him."

A snort. "That was before he jumped between me and six guys and took them all down in a matter of seconds. And…unlike both of us, he actually has _experience_ being married under, shall we say, extraordinary circumstances."

His head cocked. "You mentioned he told you stories about his exploits in Zhanik'la, but didn't go into detail."

She smiled and poked his nose. "Maybe later. Right now, I want you…" she snuggled into his chest, "right here, just holding me."

Ketar chuckled softly. "Anything for you, love."

…

Dolotlah caused quite a stir, touching down on the roof of the College as she did, but as soon as Tolfdir and the other mages saw who was on her back, they stood down. It was not the first time a dragon had been spotted in Winterhold, and after becoming Arch-Mage, Ketar had trained the rest of the staff in several anti-dragon protocols, and required them to be taught to all students, present or future. As such, it was a crowd of well over a dozen mages that returned to their duties when Tolfdir called them off.

The elderly Nord looked thoroughly confused as he approached the dismounting pair, looking them over with a concerned eye. "Brelyna dear, and young Agmaer—what in Talos' name brings you here on a _dragon_?"

"This dragon has a name," Dolotlah grumped.

Tolfdir's eyes went even wider. "A lady dragon…most fascinating."

She just huffed and turned her chin up at him.

Brelyna helped Agmaer toward the Master Wizard with a frown on her face. "We were retrieving a dark artifact and Agmaer's left eye was badly mangled. We need to see Colette immediately."

He frowned and nodded. "Follow me, you two." He cleared his throat and turned to Dolotlah. "Erm…milady, if you would be so kind—"

"I'm leaving, mortals," she interrupted. "I have a long flight ahead of me and an amulet to destroy."

Brelyna smiled at her. "I understand. Thank you for your help."

Dolotlah bowed her head gravely. "I am sorry I couldn't prevent…this."

"I knew the risks," Agmaer replied with a small smile. "I regret nothing."

"Try not to talk," Brelyna scolded mildly.

"I'm wounded, not dying."

The Dunmer gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

He sighed hard. "Let's just meet this Colette person already."

"Farewell, mortals," said Dolotlah.

"Goodbye," Brelyna replied. "I hope we meet again."

"Perhaps we shall."

And with that, the burgundy-scaled dragon took off and roared a final farewell.

A few minutes later, Brelyna and Tolfdir were hovering over Agmaer in concern while Colette Marence, the College's resident expert in Restoration magic, looked his eye over. The Breton woman's deep frown was not reassuring in the _slightest_. When she leaned away from him with a huff, Brelyna's heart sank.

"Ruined."

The Dunmer's eyes widened. "Ruined?"

Colette nodded. "Ruined. Half his eye's been gouged out already, and what's left is barely keeping itself from melting into jelly."

Agmaer laughed without mirth. "So _that's_ why you wouldn't give me a mirror."

Brelyna's face crumpled. "Oh gods…what have I done?"

" _You_?"

"You wouldn't have taken that hit if I'd been able to stand up for myself!"

Agmaer sent her a glare with his good eye. "Hey, that was _my_ choice, not yours, and I already told you: I regret nothing."

"You might the next time you try to fire your crossbow."

"Hey, I still have one good eye, and in my experience, that's all I really need."

"Agmaer—"

" _No_!"

She jumped at his shout.

Agmaer's features and gaze hardened. "I knew _exactly_ what I signed up for when I agreed to fight a magical user _way_ out of my league. And that was _without_ the gem and amulet. With them, Salonia was practically unstoppable. If anything, it's _my_ fault I wasn't of more help to you, not the other way around." His face softened. "So please… _please_ don't blame yourself." His gloved hand gently held hers. "I don't."

Brelyna gulped and nodded shakily as she held his hand back, gently cradling his arm to her chest. She turned to Colette. "Is there _nothing_ you can do?"

The Breton's lips pursed tightly. "Maybe. It's a longshot, practically equivalent to re-growing a limb, but…I might be able to restore his eye. Whether his vision will return is another matter, seeing as how the eye is only part of the problem, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Oh no you won't."

All four turned toward the new voice and stared at the source, a frowning and _very_ cross Valerica.

"Who in Kynareth's name are you?" demanded Colette. "And how did you get _in_ here?"

Valerica snorted derisively. "Please, I have neither the time nor patience for your petty, irrelevant questions. I'm here for _them_."

Agmaer's jaw dropped. "Lady Valerica…how did you find us? And aren't you supposed to be with Serana?"

She frowned. "I left Serana in Bard's capable hands and doubled back to watch over you two. I saw everything that happened with the hagraven."

Brelyna's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in rage. "You mean…you were there the _whole time_?!" She lunged forward and grabbed the vampire by the collar. "You were _watching_?! Why didn't you come in?! Why didn't you _help_?!" Her eyes spilled over as she cast a teary-eyed look at Agmaer. "Why didn't you prevent… _this_?"

Valerica gave the girl a flat look. "First off—" she smacked Brelyna's hands away, "— _never_ touch me like that again, or you really _will_ have to re-grow a limb. Secondly, if I were to interfere with every seemingly hopeless situation you find yourself in, you'd never grow as a mage and a fighter. Not having that safety net was the only way you were able to push yourself past the limits of your magicka." She nodded to Agmaer. "And _you_ past the limits of your will." Her attention returned to Brelyna. "I had faith in your abilities and commitment to protecting each other, and I was right. And…I didn't interfere because I may know a way to regenerate his eye."

Brelyna stared at her. "…you do?"

"Perhaps, yes, and it's surprisingly simple in concept."

Colette snorted derisively and crossed her arms. "Simple? Oh really?"

Valerica sent the ornery woman a small glare. "In _concept_. As an alchemist and necromancer, I spent much of my early days trying to find ways to extend and regenerate life, even in a necrotic host. Experimenting on the rejuvenation of dead tissue was practically a _pastime_." She moved over to Agmaer and gently gripped the side of his face, turning his head one way or the other as she examined his eye. "At one point, I developed a method of restoring rotted flesh to its original, or at least functional, form. In theory, it could even be used to regenerate entire organs."

"In theory?" asked Agmaer.

Her lips pursed. "Harkon completed his end of the deal with Molag Bal around that time, and I became a Daughter of Coldharbour not long after. As such, I never had occasion to test it."

"But you're sure it works?" Brelyna inquired.

"I'm sure it can't hurt to try," she replied, "but seeing as how I'm not in my own lab, I'll need access to this place's alchemical resources and tools."

Colette frowned and looked to Tolfdir, who was essentially Ketar's second as far as hierarchy. Tolfdir gave her a small nod.

The Breton jerked her head sideways. "Follow me."

Valerica nodded sharply, turning her gaze to Agmaer for a few moments as her face twisted into a deep frown. "I will do everything in my power to restore you, Agmaer. Please believe that."

The young Nord smiled a little and nodded. "I trust you, Lady Valerica. Do what you have to."

With a single nod of acknowledgement, Valerica sped off with Colette, leaving Agmaer with his Dunmer companion. Throughout the endless hours of preparation that followed, her hand hardly ever left his.

…

The _Northern Maiden_ was closing in on Windhelm, just a mile or two offshore, when they heard it: a distant, distinct roar that carried through the wind and echoed across the open sea.

All eyes immediately locked onto the sky.

No two watched the overcast skies more closely than Ketar and Serana, who had one hand on their weapons as they scanned for threats. The dragon calls kept repeating, over and over, each time louder and closer than the last. It didn't help that the ship was surrounded by a thick mist that made it impossible to see any further than twenty or thirty feet out. Ketar frowned and took a breath when the cries became dangerously close.

" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

Within seconds, the fog cleared out, as did the skies, revealing—nothing. Absolutely nothing except the open, clear blue sky and calm waters. The shores of Windhelm could actually be seen in the distance; that was how clear it was. Captain Salt-Sage observed the now-clear weather, slowly turning to Ketar with a mildly unnerved look in his eyes. "That would've been useful during that storm yesterday."

Ketar glanced his way briefly. "I prefer not to mess with the weather if at all possible. Tends to screw with the local agriculture, if you get my drift."

"Aye, but I'd know many a captain who'd pay good money for that kind of help in typhoon season."

The Dragonborn smirked. "If that's how you feel, you could always deduct it from my passenger's fee."

Gjalund chuckled nervously. "Now, now, let's not get crazy."

His smirk widened. "That's what I thought."

The skies were clear and all seemed well, but still, Ketar felt on edge. One look at his bride-to-be (still a strange thing to consider) and he knew she felt the same way. Frowning, he returned his gaze to the sea, searching the waves for anything off. Eyes narrowing at something that vaguely caught his attention, he took in another breath.

" _Laas-Ya—_ "

He'd barely gotten half of the second word of Aura Whisper out when the water off the starboard side of the _Maiden_ _exploded_ , showering the deck of the ship with gallons of falling saltwater. From the midst of the explosion, he picked out a massive, shadowy form with wings taking off straight up, barely a few meters away from the side railing. The end of its tail drifted so close, it actually rocked the ship a little.

"Dragon!" Serana yelled at the top of her lungs, sending the rest of the crew scrambling for cover and weapons.

Ketar drew Zephyr in one hand while the other waved the sailors back. "Stay down! This thing is beyond you!"

The dragon released a roar—this one ear-splittingly loud—before spiraling back down to take a pass at them. " _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

Before Ketar could release a counter-Shout, Serana leapt between the vessel and the dragon and pulled her perfect gem from her belt. A large, curved forcefield formed between her and the incoming stream of fire, the gouts of flame billowing all around her but doing only peripheral damage to the _Maiden_ and none at all to her. He couldn't help but feel a giant swell of pride at how far her control had advanced in their time apart. A smirk adorned his lips.

 _That's my girl_.

Returning his eyes to the sky, he drew back an ebony arrow as the dragon turned around for another pass and released a frost-enchanted missile toward the wyrm's wings. To his surprise, the green-scaled dragon tilted its body and just managed to dodge his incoming fire before returning some of its own, this time an explosive fireball. Serana couldn't get there in time, and Ketar could only get out two words of Unrelenting Force. The effect was pushing the fireball away from the center of the deck, its intended target, and instead sending it crashing down into the _Maiden's_ port side.

The rail there splintered and broke, along with some of the beams lower down, but the overall structure remained intact.

"Dragonborn!" yelled the captain over the roars and chaos. "That thing will tear this ship apart before we get anywhere _close_ to harbor!"

Ketar's eyes narrowed as Serana unleashed a torrent of magic on the wyrm. "No it won't! I'm taking it down _right now_! Sera!"

Her attention snapped to him.

"Get ready to unleash as much electrical power as you can muster. I'm going to bring it down into the saltwater!"

She smiled malevolently, following his instructions. "Got it."

When the _dovah_ came in for another pass, Ketar took in a breath and focused his inner power. " _Joor-Zah-Frul_!"

Once again, the dragon showed a shocking amount of agility by not only twirling its body around his Shout, but hardly altering its course. The end effect of its maneuver was to spiral itself into an even faster nosedive that gave it the perfect angle to attack the ship's main mast. Its rear paws slammed into the upper section of the thick pole, its claws rending the attached sails and splintering the wood. Still, as the dragon flapped its wings and kept going, the structure held—barely.

"Captain!" called one of the sailors. "The mast is barely staying together! We can't take another hit like that!"

Ketar's jaw clenched as the dragon came back around. "Serana! I need a boost!"

She snapped to him with wide eyes. "A _what_?"

He collapsed Zephyr and pointed to the main mast. "I need you to get me up there, _now_!"

Serana frowned and cast a glance at the approaching dragon, then nodded and got into position. She cupped her hands and laced her fingers together in preparation for him. Ketar's leather-clad form sprinted toward her, leaping for her grasp and coiling up on the way down. The moment he was in her hands, he sprung upward with everything he had, and her vampire strength sent him flying straight upward until he landed feet-first on the very top of the damaged mast, about sixty feet above the deck. Crouching down to keep his balance, Ketar braced his hands against the edge of the wooden pole and glared out at the roaring dragon, who was circling the ship and analyzing their defenses for a good angle of attack.

He waited until just the right moment to launch himself from the top of the mast, fingers twitching and tingling with magic as a small black pouch just below the back of his collar sprung open, releasing his enchanted cloak to its full length and span. The partial levitation enchantment etched into its fabric awakened with the touch of his magic, his downward acceleration quickly turned into forward momentum as the dragon dove for a strike. He took a breath as the wyrm drew within twenty feet of the _Maiden_.

" _Wuld-Nah-Kest_!"

The dragon's eyes snapped to the source of the Voice, its head trying to follow but unable due to the fact that Ketar _flew_ —straight into the side of its neck. The impact alone was enough to throw the wyrm's flight pattern off, but as soon as Ketar managed to get a good hold on its scales, the Blade of Woe left its sheath and plunged into the side of its neck. The dragon roared and bellowed in pain as he raked the serrated Blade back and forth under its skin, his free hand grabbing one of its horns and pulling hard in tandem with the twisting. The result was a complete course-correction and alteration of its flight pattern toward the mainland of Skyrim.

It fought him the whole way there.

The same spiral pattern it used to dodge Dragonrend was employed once more in an attempt to dislodge him, but the Blade's curved blade had formed something of a hook under its scales, and his grip was hard as iron. After the first bit of jostling, he'd wrapped his legs around the dragon's neck and pinched hard with his thighs, his free hand releasing its horn and firing a plasma bolt into the main joints of each of its wings. The effect was as intended: howling pain and a transition to panic mode that made it far easier to control. As soon as the dragon leveled out somewhat, he tore the Blade of Woe loose and replaced it in its sheath in favor of drawing the Fury.

Ordinarily, he asked every dragon he fought for its name, both to help keep Delphine's records as accurate as possible and as a matter of honor, from one _dovah_ to another. Ketar was in no mood for honor today. He had just survived the icy wasteland of Solstheim and the horrors of Miraak's past, overcome the madness of Apocrypha and effectively trapped two of his most powerful enemies there instead…and in the process, screwed over a Daedric Lord. And on the eve of those victories, he achieved the greatest one of all: getting the woman he loved to agree to marry him. He'd be damned if he let this bloodthirsty fiend taint that victory by sinking his ship on the way home.

Thus, it was with a cry of pure, feral rage that he drove Dragonborn's Fury into the dragon's head over and over again with a series of powerful overhead strikes. The enchanted dragonbone carved through the wyrm's scales like butter and cleaved off one of its horns as they approached the shoreline. One final thrust buried the Fury in the back of its head almost to the hilt, causing the great lizard to fall limp and glide, then plummet toward the ground. Ketar realized the danger a split-second before he launched himself from the dragon's back and grabbed the edges of his cloak.

The magical black fabric instantly expanded to its full span and flared inward with the backward and upward rush of air. The resulting reduction in speed was enough to give him a second or two of reaction time as the dead dragon's limp body plowed through over a dozen trees on its way down. Still unused to using his cloak in such volatile conditions, Ketar struggled to keep himself moving steadily, just managing to remain in the wake of the crash's destruction so as not to plant face-first on the trunk of a tree. When he hit the ground, he was still moving way too fast, but his recovery roll managed to mitigate most of the damage.

He relied on his Dragonborn physiology to handle the rest.

Ketar's black-clad form tumbled sideways through leaves and fallen branches for about ten yards before finally sliding to a stop face-up. He could feel a litany of cuts and bruises forming all over his body, but nothing was broken and he was still conscious, so that much was still good. With a few heavy breaths and a loud groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position, his right hand coming around to cradle his left forearm, which felt a touch too close to a hairline fracture for his taste. His palm glowed with healing energy as he finished standing, limping his way over to the fallen dragon's body and approaching its bloodied head.

He heard a familiar call from behind and distractedly shouted, "I'm here!"

Moments later, the flapping of leathery wings was heard from behind, and he felt a pair of large, sinewy hands on his shoulders for a second before they faded to the strong but dainty ones he was familiar with.

"You okay? I didn't see all of that, but that last tumble looked painful."

Ketar's lips twitched with a reassuring smile as he glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'm fine. Still working out the kinks of this cloak."

Serana nodded slowly and laid her chin on his shoulder as she too looked at the dragon, whose body had begun decomposing. Ketar reached out with one hand as the dragon soul flowed toward him unimpeded, a twinge of annoyance filling his chest when it stopped barely a hand-span away from his body. Next to it emerged the irritatingly familiar ethereal form of Miraak a few seconds later.

Ketar gave him a flat look, head tilted partway to one side. "You know something? You were right. We _have_ to stop meeting like this." He shrugged. "Why do you even _bother_? You know you can't take them from me anymore."

Miraak's tension was clear as day, hands clenching into fists at his sides. " _Be that as it may, it is an easy way to pinpoint your location, and I felt the need to speak to you._ " His arms crossed. " _My sources inform me that you've left Solstheim._ " His tone turned mocking. " _Already giving up, are we?_ "

Ketar smirked. "No. I'm just done playing by your rules. I figured out your game, Miraak, and I know exactly how you planned to invade."

" _Oh? Do tell._ "

"The All-Maker Stones. You intended to channel the power of Solstheim itself into your rebuilt temple, use it as a focus for a massive teleportation spell that would bring you and your army back to Nirn. Now that I've cleansed the Stones—and eliminated your help on the outside—that plan went to rot." At Miraak's sudden tension, he grinned malevolently. "Oh yeah, I know about Neloth." His eyes narrowed in quiet fury. "I know _everything_."

" _Is that so?_ " Miraak chuckled. " _And you think I'm just going to give up so easily? I'll find another way back, Ketar._ "

"If you could do that, you would've done it _ages_ ago, long before I was even born. Instead, you've decided to rear your ugly head again _now_ , when thousands of long-dead dragons are coming back to life, and you've been harvesting the souls of the ones slain ever since, slowly building your power over the past two and a half years. That's the only reason you were able to corrupt the Stones in the first place, that and your wizard puppet. And that was your plan B, in case your efforts there ever fell through. Every time you stole a soul from me—or tried to—you said you were one step closer to your return.

"It would take longer, a great deal more time and effort, but eventually, if you accumulated enough dragon souls, you'd be able to create a similar portal, smaller in size, but enough to get you here. From there, all you had to do was corrupt the Stones yourself, and within a matter of weeks, you'd be able to bring your army through—or maybe just enslave the population and start early. You've done it before, after all."

Miraak's fists had returned to his sides, and were tighter than ever. " _This won't stop me forever._ "

"Maybe not, but for now, you're trapped there with no way out, and I'm not about to give you one by coming to face you, especially considering how much of a disadvantage I have."

"… _you tried to gain my power, didn't you?_ "

"And I very nearly succeeded, learned all except for one little word." Ketar snarled. "But unlike you, I wasn't willing to sacrifice my humanity to get it."

" _You think that's what I did?_ "

"I _know_ it is. And that wasn't all you gave up…" Ketar smiled sardonically, slowly shaking his head, "not by a longshot. I saw it, _lived_ it through your eyes, trapped inside your mind." He scowled. "How could you, brother? How could you possibly put your wife to death with your own hands?"

Miraak tensed.

"How could you do that to Lizette?"

The ancient Dragonborn began to shake with rage. " _Do…not…_ ever _speak her name!_ "

"As if you have any right to say it yourself!" Ketar returned furiously. "You murdered the only person who believed in you, the only one who ever _loved_ you, in cold blood! And for _what_?! So you could fall to the dragons' fury alone?" His head shook slowly. "You know, when I first saw why you went to Mora, I actually sympathized with you. Put in the same position, I don't know that I would've done things any different." He scowled. "But what happened after…how you spoke to Father, what you did to Liz, to her people…those are lines I could _never_ cross."

" _And how the hell do_ you _know, huh?!"_ Miraak roared. " _You arrogant, self-righteous_ brat _! You believe your loyalty to Akatosh gives you some form of piety or advantage over me; it doesn't! All it means is that you're still too naïve to see him for what he truly is: an old, has-been god who delights in toying with the lives of the mortals under his 'protection.' That you still hold faith in him, that you still believe yourself above making my decisions, is simply proof that you haven't lost_ nearly _enough to understand._ "

And _then_ Ketar lost it. "Don't you _dare_ talk to me about loss!" he screamed, half in rage, half grief, as he got up in Miraak's face. "I lost my parents before I could even _walk_! The only people who cared for me were torn away by a horde of Elven _garbage_ because they were betrayed by the very empire they served! I've lost friends, family, my innocence!" His jaw clenched. "I've even felt my _humanity_ slipping away because of what I've had to do to survive. But I will never, _ever_ become what you are!" He snarled. "Know why?"

Miraak fumed silently.

"Because I realized the one thing you _never_ will: that I'm not all I have. My strength simply isn't enough, no matter how powerful I get…and I'm _glad_." Ketar looked to Serana. "Because if I hadn't been forced to lean on the people in my life, I would never have grown as much as I have in only twenty short years of life, both with them and within." His eyes snapped back to Miraak, gaze sharp as a razor. " _You_ , on the other hand, believe yourself above them. You make yourself out to be a _god_. Well if you are, you're no god I'd ever pray to." His upper lip twitched. "You _disgust_ me."

Miraak snorted derisively. " _Think of me what you will, but without my power, you cannot hope to defeat me._ "

"Why would I when I don't _need_ to?"

He stopped short.

"I never really needed to defeat you; that was my ego talking. I only ever needed to stop you. With the Stones cleansed and your supply of dragon souls effectively cut, we are at an indefinite stalemate. I can't fight you on an even plane, and you can't make your return. Either way, Nirn is safe from your threat, and that's good enough for me."

" _I_ will _find a way out._ "

"And in that unlikely event, I laid safeguards to make sure I'd be ready." He smirked. "Just because I'm young and a little naïve doesn't make me an idiot. Keep underestimating me like that, and you _won't_ like what happens." Ketar took a deep breath and sighed hard. "Anyway, I have _much_ better things to do than explain my decisions to you, so I think I'll be off now." He reached out and claimed the hovering dragon soul with barely any effort at all. He looked over his shoulder at Miraak. "You can rot in Apocrypha for the rest of _eternity_ for all I care; you're just not worth my attention anymore." Ketar's eyes narrowed dangerously. " _Begone_."

Miraak's hands balled into fists. " _This isn't over_ ," he promised, and then vanished from existence.

Ketar remained frowning at the space the projection had occupied a while longer before he felt Serana's hand enter his own.

"You never told me what happened to _you_ while we were separated."

He sighed raggedly, voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Long story."

"We have a long ride home." At his silence, she laced her fingers between his and looked up at him earnestly. "Please, my love…tell me everything."

Ketar met her concerned eyes, compassion overflowing in those sunset-colored orbs, and released a tired, resigned sigh. "Okay." He took a long breath, the bloodied form of Lizette's corpse flashing through his vision. "Okay. You'll…have to bear with me. These memories are…it's not something I ever want to relive, but…I think, at least, _you_ deserve to know." He smiled ruefully. "Just try not to freak out if I get a little…emotional."

Serana smiled and cupped his cheek with her left hand, the black steel of her engagement ring cold against his skin. "Never. I'm all ears."

…

"You're sure this will help?"

Valerica frowned at Brelyna's question as she shook the contents of a red vial. "As I said before, I don't know anything for certain, but at the very least, I know this won't damage him any further." She leaned over Agmaer, who was lying on his back on a long cot. "Hold still. This might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but you _must_ keep your eye open."

Agmaer's jaw tightened with a nod. "I'll do my best."

Valerica's eyes darted to the side briefly, hovering for a moment on Agmaer's right hand as Brelyna's entered it and held on tightly. A small smile came to her lips before she refocused on the task at hand and unstopped the vial. A slow breath was released, her free hand gently holding Agmaer's eyelid open while the other poured the liquid in the vial into his half-gouged eye drop by drop. His grip around Brelyna's hand immediately tightened, his body twitching and shaking slightly as the strange, viscous white liquid seeped into the empty spaces vacated by his shredded flesh.

Once the potion's contents were completely dispersed, Valerica sealed the empty vial and placed her hands together, closing her eyes in focus. She held her palms in a cupping motion around his eye and poured energy into the wound with a combination of Alteration and necromantic magic. The Alteration spell executed first, effectively transmuting the potion into a more usable form that mimicked the look and structure of the flesh around it. The necromantic spell effectively gave the newly grown flesh a jump-start of life, a final sealing to assimilate all the components into one function once more.

When both had completely run their course, Valerica opened her eyes and pulled away, lowering her hands as she and the others inspected the injury.

…

Brelyna's eyes widened in surprise as a small gasp passed her lips.

"What?" asked Agmaer with a few blinks. "What's wrong?"

His left eye, once the same vibrant hazel green as his right, was now a blank, milky white, with a diagonal scar running through the skin around it.

The Dunmer girl's lips pursed. "Can…can you see with it now?"

He blinked a few more times, frowning and shaking his head. "Not at all. I mean…there's _something_ , almost like it's _trying_ to see, but…I can't make anything out except an endless blackness."

Her face sagged as she released a hard sigh, turning to Valerica. "What do you think went wrong?"

The vampire frowned and looked him over. "Hard to say. As I said, this technique was only a theory until now, completely untested."

"Most healing spells take effect _immediately_ ," Colette said with her arms crossed.

"Modern Restoration magic might emphasize quick fixes," Valerica defended, "but this isn't straight healing; it's the direct manipulation of the states and function of living matter, which is something no mere healer can even _think_ of accomplishing." She returned her attention to Agmaer. "It may simply take a little longer to reach its full effect. It also probably doesn't help that Agmaer has no magical talent of his own, and as such, the spell must rely on external input to function, rather than feeding on the magicka of its host to maintain itself."

Brelyna frowned. "So you're saying someone would have to keep casting the spell to make this work?"

"No, it'll continue to feed on the magicka found all around us in the environment. Trying to meddle would have little effect in speeding things up; in fact, that would probably be significantly more dangerous than simply letting it be." Valerica's lips pursed as she packed away the vial and the rest of her bag. "For now, we'll have to wait and see if there are any new developments."

Brelyna nodded slowly and turned back to Agmaer, her hand still in his.

He sent a grateful smile to Valerica. "I appreciate you trying."

The vampire smiled back and bowed her head slightly. "You two let me know if there are any changes."

"You're leaving?"

She nodded. "Being around you young people is riveting, but exhausting. I've already spent far longer out here than I'd intended, and I have my own work to attend to."

"I understand."

Brelyna strode up to her and shook her hand. "Thank you."

Valerica nodded once, then left via the stairs to the roof.

A few minutes later, Agmaer was strapping his armor back on, along with his weapons, in preparation to head out.

Brelyna approached him from behind with her hands tucked behind her back, head tilted a little. "Are you sure you don't want to stay a little longer to recover?"

Agmaer smiled over his shoulder at her and shook his head. "Between Lady Valerica and Miss Marence, I'm about as healed now as I'll ever be. Besides, I have an overdue appointment for training with Delphine." He drew his wakizashi half out of its sheath. "I have no idea how to use this thing properly, or two weapons in general, and I almost lost my eye for good because of it."

Brelyna frowned, eyebrows drawn together as she stared at the floor. She felt her head tipped up with Agmaer's hand on her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes—well, eye. He'd used the torn piece of Brelyna's hood to cover his blinded eye again.

"Hey," he said softly, "I know you feel responsible, but trust me, that's not a burden you have to bear. I was happy to step in for you, and I don't regret a thing."

"But you wouldn't have _had_ to if—"

He stopped her by pressing his lips to hers briefly. "Do you remember what we discussed about expectations?"

She pursed her lips and nodded slightly.

Agmaer sighed. "You might not be patterning yourself on anyone else, but you are still _way_ too hard on yourself, Lyn. Everyone makes mistakes," he snorted, "even the almighty Ketar Dov."

Brelyna smiled and let out a small laugh.

His smile thinned a bit. "So trust me, you have nothing to feel guilty for. Just make sure that next time, you've learned from it and can hit harder as a result."

The girl pressed her face into his chest and nodded. "Okay." She drew back a moment later and cocked her head, looking up at him. "Why'd you put the covering back on? Now that it's physically regenerated, you don't have to worry about it falling apart."

Agmaer bit his lower lip. "I saw myself in the mirror and…well, I figured it'd freak people out."

Brelyna smiled. "There are more than enough wounded veterans in Skyrim to make it pretty normal. Besides, however I feel about my role or lack of one in making it happen, what it means for you is quite different from my point of view."

Agmaer's brows furrowed. "How do you mean?"

Brelyna placed a hand on the side of his face, her thumb tracing the scar around his blind eye. "Whether it's the white eye or just the scars around it…it reminds me of what you sacrificed to keep me safe, of how far you're willing to go for the people you care about." She gently gripped him by the jaw. "You're right; some people might freak out about it." She smiled. "But I promise you I will never be one of them." A chuckle. "Besides, I thought Nords viewed scars as a badge of honor."

"We do, I just…" Agmaer sighed and smiled, reaching up to untie the strap and reveal his milky white eye. "Thanks, Lyn."

She grinned and kissed him soundly, whispering her answer against his lips. "Anytime."

They stayed like that, embracing gently, for a while, just holding each other until finally, Agmaer sighed and let her go.

"I should get going before it gets too dark," he said. "Sky Haven Temple is a long way from here."

"About that…"

He blinked and cocked his head. "What is it?"

Brelyna chewed her lower lip. "Do you think the Blades would take me on as a trainee?"

Agmaer's eyebrows rose. "You…want to join the Blades?"

Her lips pursed. "That fight would've gone _much_ differently if I were actually trained for combat. I'm just a little too academic for the company I keep." She frowned. "And I never want someone to get hurt picking up my slack again."

Agmaer grinned. "That's my girl."

She preened.

"To answer your question, I think Delphine would be _delighted_ to have you. I know I will."

Brelyna chuckled. "You _have_ to say that."

Agmaer laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders as they turned for the exit. "Well you _are_ a wonderfully talented young woman, and I'd hate to see that go to waste because of low self-esteem."

She giggled. "You flatterer."

"Is it working?"

Brelyna went up on tiptoes and wetly kissed his neck. "What do you think?"

He just grinned.

…

"That's…you…" Serana's face screwed up in a mixture of pity and outrage. "He made you _watch_?"

Ketar blinked. "What?"

Her jaw twitched. "Mora. He made you watch."

"It's…" he sighed, wiping a hand over his face, "it's complicated."

"No it isn't. He could've easily given you the Word without subjecting you to all that trauma."

"And in the end, I would've learned _nothing_." Ketar's lips pursed. "As counter-intuitive as it might seem, Mora forcing me to relive Miraak's fall into depravity probably saved my life. Something I learned by watching his history: power, obtained too easily, is a double-edged knife that always, _always_ cuts you in the end." He frowned and stared into his lap. "That's why, for all my heartache and grief, I'm glad I lived the life I did before coming here, and even what happened after. If I hadn't endured all that…" he sighed, "let me put it this way. You can never truly appreciate the light of the sun until you've experienced the darkness of night."

Serana arched an eyebrow. "You know full well how I'd feel about _that_."

He gave her a deadpan look. "You're kinda missing the point."

She exhaled hard. "I know, Kay…I know what you're trying to get at, but…did all this have to leave such deep scars? If Akatosh had just told you—"

"I probably wouldn't have believed him. Words can only have so much impact to push someone in one direction or another, and after seeing what his meddling did to Miraak's inflated opinion of himself, I now more than ever find my father's position an unenviable one." Ketar frowned. "Don't get me wrong; I _wish_ I could've known my parents, that I could've saved Niel and all the people I've lost over the years, but…" He looked down into his bare right hand, where the aftereffect of palming Neloth's plasma spear full-on had left a circular scar. He released a sigh. "These scars are what make me what I am."

Ketar looked up at his betrothed. "And I think, the same way yours do."

Serana smirked. "I'm a vampire, Ketar. I don't scar."

He reached out and wiped his thumb across her cheek. "Not all scars are physical, love. In fact, those are always the _easiest_ to heal."

Her mirthful mask melted, and she turned to stare out the window of the carriage. "I know." A small, sad smile came to her lips as she tightly laced her fingers through his. "I love you."

Ketar chuckled softly and moved closer to draw his free arm around her back and tuck her body into his side. "I know." He grinned, fingering the ring on her left hand. "After all, you said yes, didn't you?"

Serana laughed and squealed when he kissed and blew a raspberry into her neck.

"Oh, so you're ticklish _here_ too!"

"Am not!"

"Nuh-uh, you can't lie to me. I know all your weaknesses!"

The carriage driver could only sigh helplessly as the newly engaged lovers playfully romped in the back of his vehicle all the way back to Whiterun.

…

A few hours after they paid Captain Salt-Sage and rented a carriage, Ketar and Serana returned hand-in-hand to the streets of Whiterun, a breath of fresh air passing their lips as all was once again made right in the world. Their giddy laughs caught the attention of everyone who heard them, and whatever stares had followed them around when their relationship first became known _doubled_ as soon as their audience saw Serana's ring. Of course, since the pair had eyes only for each other, they only noticed this absently, and overall paid it no mind at all, but still. Ketar began mentally preparing for the hellstorm of rumors and gossip that would arise following their not-so-subtle entrance.

 _Bring it on,_ was his thought process at that point.

He'd just stuck it to two of the most powerful opponents he'd ever faced and was engaged to the woman of every dream he'd ever had and quite a few he'd never _dared_ to have. They could talk all they wanted; as far as he was concerned, he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. It was with this exact thinking that he entered Breezehome with Serana hanging onto his arm like a koala, their attention so focused on each other that they failed to notice the blank looks they were getting from the house's two residents. When they did, Ketar, Serana, Lydia, and Brynjolf stared at each other for a while.

Ketar was the first to speak. "So…we have a bit of an announcement to make."

Brynjolf crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows.

Lydia observed the pair with a narrow gaze and suspicion in her eyes.

Ketar smirked and gave Serana a nod.

The vampire girl grinned and lifted her left hand into view, revealing the steel band and sunset-colored garnet contained in its center.

Both their eyes widened dramatically, their gazes shifting from the ring to Ketar and back. Of the pair, Brynjolf looked a bit like a beached fish as he struggled for words. Lydia had no such problems.

"So…"

Ketar's attention snapped to his smirking housecarl.

Lydia grinned at Serana. "I guess I won't have to kill you _after_ all."

And at that, the women erupted into giddy laughter, with Brynjolf shaking his head and Ketar shooting them questioning looks.

"Um…what?" he asked.

Serana chuckled and waved dismissively. "Long story. Not important."

He frowned and threw his housecarl a narrow-eyed glare. "If actual death threats were made, I think I'd find that pretty important."

Lydia gave him a smile that was all teeth. "It's just an agreement we had that she nearly broke. Nothing to worry about, Lord Dov."

His eyes narrowed further. "You only ever call me that when you're covering for something."

She sighed and finally caved in. " _Fine_. Months before you even proposed, I threatened to kill her if she broke your heart. Happy now?"

"…you… _what_?" He huffed in affront. "What are you, my _mother_?"

"Eh, more like a big sister, to be honest."

Ketar stared at her blank-faced. "But you're so _little_."

Lydia glared, lips pursed tightly. "I am _not_. _You're_ just freakishly tall, and for the record, I am several years your senior."

"Yes, you are quite the old hag when you want to be."

Her green eyes flashed with fire. "Excuse me?" she hissed through her teeth.

Ketar smirked challengingly. "You heard me."

The Nord woman's face screwed up as her body tensed and coiled, ready to pounce.

He just grinned wider.

A split-second before she launched herself forward and they proceeded to pummel each other into the ground, Brynjolf's arms looped around her from behind, and he bodily carried her toward the house's back door.

"We'll just be…outside for a bit," grunted the thief as he dragged Lydia away kicking and screaming.

Ketar shook his head at their exit, sighing hard. "Bloody psychotic berserker."

"To be fair," said Serana, "you _did_ provoke her."

He snorted. "And don't even get me _started_ on you."

She drew back slightly. "What did _I_ do?"

Ketar swept her up into his arms, making her squeak a bit and loop her arms around his neck. "You left me at Frea's mercy for a _week_."

Serana's mouth opened and closed haphazardly, doing a rather inspired impression of a fish as she scrambled for something to say. Finally, she closed her mouth and sighed, looking off to the side. "Yeah, that's fair."

"But I know how you can repay me."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You mean accepting your proposal isn't enough?"

His eyes flashed with horror. "Are you _kidding_? I mean, granted, that _was_ pretty awesome, but…have you _seen_ the way Frea flirts? It's about as subtle as a peacock, and nowhere near as pretty. You have no idea how _uncomfortable_ I was, feeling her eyes on the back of my ass twenty-four seven."

"Eh…okay, yeah, that's pretty bad." She smirked. "Though I bet you wouldn't mind _mine_ hovering there."

Ketar snorted a laugh as he gently laid her back-first on his bed. "Considering what I have planned, I think you're gonna be doing a lot more than that pretty soon."

Serana's eyes lit up in surprise and excitement. "And uh…how soon are we talking?"

He stroked a thumb over the pulse point on her neck, which was throbbing rapidly. "As soon as all the preparations are made."

She blinked once, slowly. "What? You mean—"

"Yeah. I plan to get started immediately." He exhaled a hard breath as he took off his chestpiece and laid down next to her face-first. "But first…I need to take care of some Dragonborn business."

Serana rolled over and scooted up next to him. "Yeah? What's that?"

Ketar smirked. "I have to convince a dragon to lead me to Alduin."

"…that's what you were talking about at Alduin's Wall."

He nodded slowly. "It's not going to be easy, but…I've put this off too long already." His lips pursed. "And I think now, with everything I know about my kind and our history…I'm finally ready to do it."

Serana reached over to take his hand in two of hers, stroking her thumbs across his skin. "Then I'll stand beside you every step of the way."

He smiled and nuzzled her cheek, kissing her skin briefly. "So…"

She gave him a questioning look. "So?"

"Know how you can pay me back?"

Sera sighed and replied in an irritated tone. "How?"

Ketar grinned. "A nice, relaxing massage…full-body, of course." He made a show of working out the "cramps" in his muscles. "I've got…quite a few tense spots that need taking care of after my little adventure."

She gave him narrow-eyed look. "Oh, I'm sure you do." A sigh. "Very well then. My services are at your disposal." A devious smile slowly made its way to her face as she drew herself up and loomed over him. "I'll be sure to give your 'tense body' a full work-down." She grinned, all teeth. "Every. Inch."

He stared at her for a few seconds before realizing her meaning. His eyes widened dramatically, face burning up as he stuttered for words. "N-Now just wait one minute—"

"No, no; you asked for this, Kay…and you can't back out now."

"S-Sera—"

"Let's get these pesky clothes out of the way, yeah?"

Suddenly, Ketar was very glad Lydia and Brynjolf were no longer in the house, because if they'd heard or seen _half_ of what transpired in the minutes that followed, he'd have instantly died of embarrassment.

* * *

AN: Yay! The first chapter of the next arc is done, and we're finally getting into the fun stuff I've wanted to write for the whole story. After the volume I put out last time, I didn't expect to get so much done so soon, but I guess life's full of surprises. Hope you enjoyed this fun little introduction to what I'm now mentally calling "Season 2" of _Children of Akatosh_. The next few chapters, as Ketar indicated, will involve planning for both the wedding and his final blow against Alduin…among numerous other hijinks.

I think you're gonna enjoy what I have planned.

And with that, I bid you farewell and good reading.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings – Regicide: "done playing by your rules"/stalemate/"This isn't over"


	14. Odahviing

Sovngarde.

The one place the Imperials and Stormcloaks shared without contention. Given that there were no nations or political alliances in the afterlife of the Nords, their fight was already over. At least with each other. For those who wished to enter the vaunted Hall of Valor, to spend the rest of eternity sharing their stories and merriment with Nord heroes of old, there was an entrance exam. Typically, that involved telling the gatekeeper of their deeds in battle when they were alive, or failing to impress him, battle the gatekeeper himself to a standstill. However, in the last six months, an additional danger had arisen that had not been seen in many ages.

A thick, impenetrable mist permeated the lowlands of Sovngarde, and only the higher structures and terrain remained untouched. Any who attempted to traverse the mist risked a fate far worse than death: to be devoured by a dragon whose scales were black as midnight, and whose eyes burnt a monstrous red. It was this dragon that swooped over the misty slopes of Sovngarde, surveying his prey from above and leisurely choosing his next target. Alduin, firstborn of Akatosh and the World-Eater, flapped his wings to slow his forward motion, eventually touching down on the peak of a mountain near the Hall of Valor and silently cursing the gatekeeper who kept him from touching the brightest souls.

There was a time they had been allies, but that was long ago and such friendships had long been forsaken by the dread lord of the dragons. Except in that mead hall, Alduin reigned supreme over the souls of Sovngarde, with no one who dared challenge him. So, when he felt the presence of a strong soul emerge at his back, it was with great surprise that he whirled around, and a pronounced growl that he greeted the ethereal interloper.

 _"Greetings, brother."_

Alduin sneered. "You are no brother of mine, betrayer."

Miraak chuckled. _"Ah, I see you've lost none of your fire. That's good to hear."_ He started pacing across the mountain peak. _"However, I've received some…disturbing news about you."_

"Likewise. You're supposed to be dead."

 _"Have you forgotten already? Your vassal, Vahlok, had me imprisoned in Apocrypha, not killed, and his spirit has been keeping watch over me ever since."_

"Ah yes…it was such an insignificant event that it slipped my mind. As well it should, with the many far more important matters I've had to attend to."

Alduin could hear the smile in Miraak's reply. _"Like Ketar Dov?"_

The dragon tensed. "Where did you hear that name?"

He waved dismissively. _"It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I believe he's an enemy to_ both _of us, and that gives us a distinct advantage."_

Alduin sneered. "You say that as if you are _not_ my enemy, _Dovahkiin_."

 _"Oh, I am, and I'd be foolish to even claim otherwise. However, in the matter of Ketar Dov, I believe we can come to an…arrangement."_

"And what makes you think I need your help?"

 _"Because like me, you failed to destroy him. If that were not the case, you wouldn't be stuck in Sovngarde trying to regenerate a lost limb."_

Alduin snarled and growled.

Miraak held his hands up in surrender. _"All I'm saying is this: Dov is young and naïve, but he is far from powerless, and should he gain even more power, the time may come when even the both of us may not be strong enough to stop him."_

"I could have crushed him at the Throat of the World."

 _"Then why didn't you?"_ Miraak sighed. _"You don't have to admit your fear to me; you do have your pride. But I believe your pride is outweighed by your pragmatism. If we work together to stop him, he won't stand a chance."_

"And then what? You and I go toe-to-toe once more?"

The Dragonborn shrugged. _"If that is your wish. Truthfully, I felt our last battle of wits and might was cut far too short by that interloper, Vahlok."_ His head cocked. _"I'm curious to see who would come out on top in an all-out war. And I've been preparing ever since my imprisonment to wage it. So what do you say, firstborn? Shall we dispense of the pup so the_ real _predators can decide the fate of Tamriel?"_

Alduin considered him for a while, red eyes narrowing to slits. "I'm listening."

…

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

Ketar frowned at the Jarl's question. "It will. It _has_ to." He looked around at the preparations of Dragonsreach's ancient shackles, the rust shaken off and restraints reinforced to perfection. "Listen up!" he called out, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "I want this to happen with a minimal amount of bloodshed, so I want everyone inside and out of sight when I call his name. I'll be the only one he sees."

"Are you sure he'll take the bait?" asked Irileth with a frown and crossed arms. "He could decide to burn the city instead."

Ketar shook his head. "He'll take the bait. A dragon's pride is a powerful thing, and this dragon in particular tends to let it override his sense, from what I hear. Trust me, after I call his name in challenge, the city will be the _least_ of his concerns."

Satisfied, the Dunmer housecarl nodded and set about organizing the guards.

Ketar sighed hard, crossing his arms and staring at the ground in thought. In the silence that followed, his thoughts drifted, as they inevitably did these days, to his betrothed, who was currently back at Breezehome, and only so because he expressly promised her he'd stay out of harm's way. Which…was true. That was his intention, at least. He had no way of knowing just how powerful this Odahviing was without personal experience, but he'd only really be engaged in open battle for a few seconds, a minute or two at the most.

The shackles built into the walls of Dragonsreach's massive upper floor had been built with the express purpose of holding dragons, and had served that very purpose once before. After the past few days of preparation and repair, they were dragon-worthy once again. And that wasn't the only thing in Dragonsreach that had been undergoing preparations. Balgruuf had, as Ketar had predicted, immediately agreed to both host and officiate his wedding to Serana, donating his own hall for the purpose of both the ceremony and the reception. Ketar had initially tried to refuse the latter, claiming Jorrvaskr as a suitable location—and then he remembered that Torvar practically _lived_ there and quickly accepted the Jarl's offer.

What they had planned was, at present, a relatively quiet affair with a tightly-guarded guest list. Choosing who to invite was a bit of a chore, though. It wasn't until he and Serana had sat down and started working on said invitations that he realized just how many friends he'd made in Skyrim.

…

 _"Are we seriously inviting the Dark Brotherhood to our wedding?"_

 _Ketar snorted. "Oh_ hell _no. Most of 'em are_ way _too weird to be seen in public. But Nazir and Babette? They'll do."_

 _Serana groaned and shot him a look. "Do we_ have _to invite Babette?"_

 _He rolled his eyes. "Oh please. It's not like she's a rival or anything. She just drank my blood that one time, and that's it." He smirked. "Besides, if she_ does _act out, you could always do to her what you did to Frea."_

 _Her eyes widened just a bit, Serana averting her gaze after a second. "I don't know what you're talking about."_

 _Ketar grinned and shook his head. "Uh-huh." His smile faded slowly as he looked over the potential guest list compiled by Lydia and Brynjolf. "Agmaer is definitely a yes, right?"_

 _"Sure, that's a given."_

 _"And what about the rest of the Dawnguard?"_

 _Serana shot him a look. "We are_ not _inviting Isran to our wedding."_

 _"Okay, yeah, that's what I thought."_

 _The room fell silent for a while._

 _"Why did you ask?"_

 _Ketar glanced her way. "I thought…never mind."_

 _"What?"_

 _"I had an idea, but in retrospect it seems far too political." He huffed. "Imagine that. All the diplomatic crap I have to deal with on a daily basis is rubbing off on my personal life."_

 _"Are you sure it's not at least something to consider?"_

 _Ketar threw her a frown. "Sera, this is the one occasion where we shouldn't have to worry about stepping on anyone's toes. If they don't like it, too bad. They can try to be the plus-one of someone who's actually_ invited _for all I care. The only people you ever really_ have _to put on this guest list are relatives, and all of ours except your mother are either dead or missing."_

 _"…that's fair."_

 _"The Companions are in, of course."_

 _"Except Torvar."_

 _"_ Definitely _except Torvar. He is banned from being within a hundred feet of you after that last incident."_

 _"That's a little extreme, don't you think?"_

 _"Not if you want to keep me out of jail for murder."_

 _A chuckle. "You're so dramatic."_

 _"Oh I'm dead serious."_

 _"…"_

 _"Did you see what I did there?"_

 _"…"_

 _"Sera?"_

 _"I'm ignoring you."_

 _"I noticed."_

…

Ketar smiled at the memory, his mind running until it went to their first night together back in Whiterun. At which point his face turned into a giant tomato, though he still had a poorly suppressed smile on his face.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

He blinked and faced Balgruuf. "What?"

The Jarl smirked and crossed his arms. "Serana. She's on your mind."

Ketar laughed. "She usually is these days. How could you tell?"

The older man stroked his blond beard. "Well, your face turned bright red, and you had this smile. That particular combination is one I know well."

"Oh yeah? What does it mean?"

He smirked. "That you're thinking about something you enjoyed more than a bit, but aren't quite sure if it's okay to feel that way."

Ketar stared at him blankly. "That's…actually pretty spot-on. How'd you know?"

Balgruuf grinned and shook his head slowly. "I've seen it many times on the faces of betrothed young men. Especially those who've kept their virtue." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to be married soon, son. If you don't start preparing for what happens after, you're in for quite the awkward time later that night."

Ketar burnt up blushing again, which the Jarl laughed at. "We didn't do the deed, if that's what you're implying." He snorted and muttered, "And not for lack of her trying."

"So she's been pushing for an early debut, eh?"

He shrugged. "To be fair, she has been completely celibate for, well…eh, let's say _several years_ and leave it at that."

Balgruuf's eyebrow arched.

"I figure if she's already waited that long, a few extra weeks can't hurt much."

He shook his head and clapped the Dragonborn on the shoulder again. "With an imagination like yours, I'm sure you'll do just fine when the time comes."

The younger man frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know…she is quite a bit older than me."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"I…" he sighed hard, "I'm just afraid I won't be good enough to…you know…"

"Satisfy her?"

Ketar sighed and nodded.

Balgruuf's tone gained an earnest note. "Boy, you're going to do fine. I guarantee that Serana isn't marrying you for natural talent in the bedroom…though admittedly that wouldn't hurt things a bit." He grinned wolfishly. "You'll find as a general rule that a woman is much more pliable after you've had a wild romp or two under the covers."

Ketar's face screwed up as he pulled away. "Oh, okay, _way_ too much information."

The Jarl just laughed. "Oh, you're going to be such a mess…I almost wish I could be there to see it." His smile thinned to a small curve. "But that's your time, and yours alone. You deserve that much."

Ketar smiled back warmly. "Thank you, my friend. For everything."

Irileth's approach caught their attention. "Everything is ready, my Jarl, Lord Dov."

The Dragonborn immediately became all business. "Then let's get started. We don't have any time to waste."

Balgruuf frowned a bit as the guards scrambled to get to their places. "I hope you have a plan for dealing with the dragon before the wedding. I doubt the staff will much appreciate having to host the reception with a shackled dragon occupying the space. Or the guests, for that matter."

Ketar smirked. "Considering who I'm inviting, I don't think they'll be too alarmed. And yes, I have a plan. Now get out of sight, Jarl. The curtain's about to come up."

Balgruuf nodded to him and moved for a staircase leading to one of the nearby balconies. "Good luck, Dov."

Ketar took a deep breath and made his way to the balcony at the far end of Dragonsreach, the only part of the hall exposed to the outside. The upper floor of the Jarl's domain was a massive rectangular space at least three floors high, with most of that occupied by open air. On the second floor of the main hall, sitting on either side, were two long balconies spanning the length of the room. They served as both extra walking space and places for the guards and mechanics to operate the dragon shackles. As it happened, two dozen of the same were lining those balconies, along with Balgruuf and Irileth, who was, as usual, glued to her lord's side.

Ketar cast one last look at the Jarl before receiving a nod of confirmation and stepping onto the outside balcony. The balcony itself was exposed to the elements, and almost as far across as the inside of the building.

 _More than enough space for a dragon to stroll through._

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Ketar made one last check to ensure all his weapons were in their proper places, then drew in a deep breath and turned his eyes toward the sky.

" _Od-ah-viing_!"

And then he waited.

…

"Come on, push. _Push_! If that's all you've got to give, you might as well give up now! You think a dragon's just going to roll over and die for you out of pity? Put some _heart_ into it!"

Brelyna's jaw clenched as she attempted to make her trembling arms keep working.

 _I swear…if she yells at me one more time…_

"Your shaking tells me one of two things: that you're weak, or you're scared, and _neither_ is a good sign if you're going to fight a dragon!"

The Dunmer growled as she completed another shaky pushup.

"Come on! Ten more! _Do it_!"

She sank back down, pushing and forcing her half-numb muscles to work.

" _Push_!"

 _All right, that's it!_

With a barely managed growl, Brelyna's body lurched upward in an attempt to rush Delphine and tackle her to the ground. Or, she might've if every one of her limbs hadn't given out at once. She tried to move, tried to force herself upright. Anything to keep going, to prove that she wasn't weak. She heard armored steps approach her prone body, her numb arms shaking as she kept trying to push herself up, at least to a sitting position. The girl felt a touch at her shoulder and winced, half-expecting the Blade to start beating her into submission. Instead, what she got was a gentle touch rolling her onto her side.

"Easy," said Delphine softly. "Take it easy. You're done."

"N-No," Brelyna stuttered, her elbows pushing against the cold stone floor. "I can still—"

Delphine gently pushed her chest, sending her crashing back down with a grimace. "A great part of being strong is knowing when to admit you're too weak. I've only been pushing you like this because I know you can deliver more, that you can push past the limits you've set for yourself. When your will to fight surpasses the limitations of your body, when you physically cannot go any further… _then_ you're done." She frowned. "What I never want you to do is stop fighting because you've given up. There's a difference, and recognizing that difference is what makes you a true warrior."

The Blade reached out with her right hand, prompting Brelyna to take it and allow the older woman to haul her upright. Delphine smiled and gently smacked her back, pushing her toward the barracks of Sky Haven Temple.

"Walk it off, rookie," she said. "You did well today."

Brelyna gasped and panted for breath, barely managing a nod of thanks and a small smile of pride as she stumbled away. This had been every day for her ever since she arrived with Agmaer and asked to join them. Her boyfriend, the insufferable hunk, was fine with the physical training regimen, having already gone through something similar with the Dawnguard. It was in these dilapidated halls, right after one mind-breakingly difficult training session that she'd finally caught a glimpse of him shirtless when he was changing his tunic. It was only from behind, but still.

His back was _lined_ with cords of rock-hard muscle that she desperately wanted to press up against and run her fingers over. At present, though, the only things she wanted were a nice warm soak, a change of clothes, and to sleep forever. Which was pretty much what she did, except for the last part, because as soon as she faceplanted on her cot, there was a knock at her door.

She answered with a muffled, "Come in."

The old iron door creaked open, permitting a familiar blond form entry to her room.

"Hey," he said. "You feeling okay?"

She looked up at him with some effort, her red eyes glaring at his ridiculously chiseled features and glistening hair. Apparently he'd recently bathed as well.

"I hate you," she said without heat.

Agmaer chuckled and approached her, sitting on the bed next to her and placing one hand on her back. "To be fair, you asked for this. Literally. This was your idea."

"I know," she groaned into her pillow.

"…do you regret your decision?"

Brelyna sighed and got serious. "No. If anything, these past few days have shown me a glimpse of just how much I have to catch up."

He stroked the backs of his fingers through her hair. "And you're doing a great job working through it. I don't think anyone's going to blame you if there are tears at some point."

She snorted. "In front of Delphine? Are you _kidding_ me? I'd die of embarrassment."

Agmaer frowned. "Lyn, everyone who's ever attempted something like this has been where you are, feeling so weak and inadequate that a part of them wants to quit. But that's not the part of you that'll want to cry. It's the part that drove you toward this to begin with, the part that desperately wants to be strong. It despises your frailties, tries to push past them and when it can't, it cries out in rebellion." He smiled and stroked her cheek. "So let it come, let it wash over you, and let it pass. Because it will pass, as will your present weakness. And when you finally push past it…you're going to _soar_."

Brelyna stared into his eyes, his milky white one smiling down at her every bit as much as his vibrant hazel one. She gave him a watery smile. "You know just how to butter a girl up, don't you?" She sniffled and wiped a hand over her eyes. "You jerk."

She felt the bed dip with his weight as he leaned over her and placed a gentle kiss on her hair. "You're welcome," he said softly. "Get some rest. I think we're beginning sword training tomorrow, finally."

"Oh joy," Brelyna said without enthusiasm.

"Come on! This is where it gets fun!"

"I'd be surprised if I can pick _myself_ up in the morning, much less a sword."

Agmaer chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Just wait. You're gonna surprise yourself; I guarantee it."

She hummed absently, cooing in pleasure at the fingers that gently worked over her scalp. They left a few moments later along with Agmaer's weight.

"I'll let you rest."

Her left hand snapped out with surprising speed to catch his arm and weakly pull him back. She just managed to roll her body face-up to catch his face with her lips and hold him there for a second.

"That's how you say good night," she whispered when they broke apart.

Agmaer was blushing hard and smiling down at her. He pressed back against her for one last kiss before breaking away and heading for his own room. She waited until the door was closed and she was completely alone before casting a small healing spell over her weakened body. If she was going to train to improve everything she had, it couldn't hurt to improve her regenerative abilities as well. Delphine wrecking her day after day had certainly given her plenty of opportunity to practice. So Brelyna cast the healing spell, feeling her torn muscles regenerate partway and a portion of her stamina return.

And _then_ she passed out.

…

Ketar's right hand snapped to the hilt of Dragonborn's Fury as soon as he heard a dragon's roar split the sky. He kept his eyes locked on the sky, scanning the near-cloudless blue for any deviations and seeing none until—

He squinted at something in the distance. _Is that—no, just a cloud._ His eyes narrowed after a few moments when it started getting closer. _That's an awfully fast cloud…with an interesting sense of wind direction._

It became much clearer to him when the object drew closer and rapidly became larger on the horizon. It wasn't that he'd seen it wrong—the dragon's wings and underbelly were a cloudy white. The rest of him was blood-red, from head to tail. The very sight of his unusual coloration prompted Ketar to cock his head and consider his name more carefully.

 _Od-ah-viing. Snowy-winged hunter._ He smirked. _Now that's a worthy name._

Odahviing roared once more as he circled the city of Whiterun, his sharp eyes spotting Ketar from some distance off and prompting him to swoop in for a pass. Ketar had other ideas.

" _Joor-Zah-Frul_!"

Dragonrend tore through Odahviing's body with a torrent of sapphire energy, the dragon growling and raging as he was dragged toward the ground. With a snarl and fire in his eyes, he descended to touch down on the balcony of Dragonsreach, prompting Ketar to grin from ear to ear as he drew his sword and slowly backed away.

" _Dovahkiin_!" yelled Odahviing with no small amount of rage. "Here I am!"

The enraged dragon charged forward on all fours, drawing a breath and unleashing a powerful blast of fire breath. Ketar put his shoulder down and activated a ward using the sapphires of his ring and sword as a focus, letting the flames lick around his body as he drew the impetuous wyrm further in.

" _Ni faas, Dovahkiin_!"

Growling, Odahviing advanced on him even faster, aiming to clamp his jaws around Ketar's body. The Dragonborn lunged backward in a long dive-roll, whirling toward the dragon and looking up at Balgruuf's balcony when he confirmed his enemy was close enough.

"Now!" he shouted.

Dual levers were thrown in tandem, and a series of wood and steel shackles descended from either side of the ceiling, suspended by thick chains. The massive, yoke-like device slammed down on Odahviing's neck and wings, pinning his front limbs to the ground and locking around his neck.

"Got him!" Balgruuf shouted.

" _Nid_!" protested Odahviing, panic showing in his draconic features as his head thrashed about. " _Yol-Toor-Shul_!" he Shouted at one balcony.

Ketar lunged toward him and struck a powerful blow on the left side of his face, not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to let him know he meant business. Odahviing reined his fury in after that, seething for a bit as he breathed to calm himself.

" _Horvutah med kodaav_ ," grumbled the dragon. "Caught like a bear in a trap." He huffed and snorted at Ketar. " _Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki_ , _Dovahkiin_." He blinked and sighed. "Ah. I forget. You do not have the _dovah_ speech."

Ketar arched an eyebrow and lowered his voice to a mutter. "So Alduin neglected that small detail…" He smirked. " _Zu mindoraan pruzah_ , Odahviing. _Pahlok do_ Alduin _dein_ _nol tinvaak tol_." He smiled more at the widening of Odahviing's eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised if he painted me as an illiterate, uncultured boor when it comes to the _dov_."

Odahviing eyed him carefully. "Hm…you are not wrong there." He sighed hard. "I suppose I was…too eager to meet you in battle."

Ketar smirked and crossed his arms. "To be fair, I have been known to have a talent for taunting my opponents."

The dragon grunted. "So I see. I salute your…low cunning in devising such a _grahmindol_ —stratagem. _Zu'u_ _bonaar_. You obviously went through quite a bit of trouble to put me in such a…humiliating position. _Hind siiv_ Alduin, _geh_?"

Ketar nodded. "Yes. Though I already know where he's hiding, I have no idea how to get there, apart from slitting my own wrists."

Odahviing chuckled. "An apt choice of phrase."

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The dragon frowned grimly. "Alduin _bovul_. One reason I came to your call was to test your _Thu'um_ for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his _Thu'um_ is truly the strongest." He cleared his throat. "Among ourselves, of course. _Mu ni meyye_. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

Ketar's blue eyes narrowed. "Is that so? So even within his own ranks, there is dissent?"

"As I said, none are yet brave—or foolish—enough to openly rebel. However, there is a rising wave of unrest among my brethren, who chafe under his tyrannical rule."

"Sheesh…so it's not just humans he steps on, it's his own people?"

"To an extent. To put things simply, those who were…reluctant to join in his war after awakening have increased in discomfort ever since he fled to Sovngarde."

"Nothing worse than realizing your leader is a coward."

Odahviing frowned. "Take care with your words, _Dovahkiin_. Alduin may have learned to fear you, but that in no way diminishes the fact of his power."

Ketar laughed without mirth. "Oh trust me, I know. If it weren't for the Greybeards and my father, I would've perished in our first duel."

"…father?"

He smirked. "Akatosh personally saved my life. It's a long story, and one I have no time for." His arms crossed. "I believe you were telling me how to reach Alduin."

"Ah. Innumerable pardons. I digress. His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til_. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there. _Zu'u lost ofan hin laan_...now that I have answered your question, will you allow me to go free?"

Ketar's eyes narrowed. "That depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you intend to continue serving Alduin's reign of terror." His head cocked. "If you, one of his closest lieutenants, are starting to doubt his leadership, then the unity of the dragon race may not be as ironclad as I've been led to believe."

Odahviing sighed. "I will admit to wanting more than the scraps he leaves at our feet."

"Then are you willing to pledge your loyalty to another?"

The dragon frowned. "No, not at this point in time. If and when you defeat Alduin, I may reconsider. The best I can do is carry you to Skuldafn. From there, the fight will be your own."

Ketar pursed his lips. "I thought as much." He stood and thought for a while, arms crossed, before returning his attention to Odahviing. "Then I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere just yet."

Odahviing nodded sullenly. " _Zu mindoraan_ , _Dovahkiin_. Trusting an enemy is far from easy."

"Oh, it's not that. Well, not only that."

He looked confused.

Ketar smirked as he rubbed the back of his head. "I've been compiling a list of names recently…and I'd like to add your name to it."

The dragon blinked.

He chuckled. "There's something I'd like you to see, something I want you to witness."

"Wait a minute," echoed Balgruuf's voice from upstairs.

"You see…I'm getting married soon…"

"Wait just one minute!"

"And I'd like to invite you to the ceremony and reception as a guest."

"Oh, for Shor's sake!" shouted the Jarl. " _This_ is your plan?"

Ketar frowned up at him. "He's not gonna cause any trouble." His gaze sharpened and returned to the trapped dragon. " _Are_ you?"

Odahviing stared at him blankly, blinking a few times in disbelief before falling into a fit of incredulous laughter. "I suppose I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Ketar grinned. "Nope. Rest assured, you won't lack for diversion during your stay, and I give you my solemn oath as a fellow _dovah_ that you won't be harmed or mistreated so long as you behave yourself."

The dragon bowed his head. "Very well. You have my word. I will be here when you return…unless Alduin comes first."

He nodded and turned back to Balgruuf with a smile. "You can handle things from here, right?"

The Jarl gave him a deadpan glare from the balcony.

He just grinned and headed for the stairs down and the exit beyond. The last thing he heard before leaving Dragonsreach was a brief exchange between Odahviing and Farengar, Balgruuf's court wizard.

"Incredible! Uh...sir, you have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity! I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to perform some, ah, tests on you. Purely in the interests of the advancement of knowledge."

"Begone, mage. Do not test my promise to the _Dovahkiin_."

"I assure you, you will not even notice me. Most of them are hardly painful at all on a large dragon such as yourself."

"Farengar," Irileth warned, "very bad idea. Even for you."

"Surely you wouldn't miss a few scales," said the mage, paying her no attention. "Or a small amount of blood..."

Odahviing's tone sounded almost panicked. " _Joor mey_! What are you doing back there? _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

Ketar's resulting peals of laughter were almost as loud as Farengar's terrified shrieks.

 _Oh man…Balgruuf is gonna_ hate _me for this…_

…

Serana was still looking over the guest list when Ketar came through the door. She smiled and nodded at him. "Hey you."

"Hey yourself," he answered, unslinging his sword and mounting it on a rack over the fireplace's mantlepiece.

"How did the dragon hunting go? I heard those roars a little while back."

"Off without a hitch. Paarthurnax wasn't kidding when he said Odahviing was a hothead, but once you get past his monumental pride, there's an intelligence to him that I've seldom seen, even in dragons."

"Hm," she replied distractedly, even more distracted when he came up behind her and curled his arms around her midriff, planting his chin on her shoulder.

"You still going over the list?"

"Mhm." She jerked a thumb at a cooking Lydia. "Trying to figure out if she left anyone off that shouldn't be."

"You mean like me?"

The new, completely unfamiliar voice snapped all their attention to a newcomer no one even noticed come in. A slightly shorter Breton man with shoulder-length brown hair was standing by the fireplace and inspecting Dragonborn's Fury. He reached out with one hand to poke his pinky against its ebony hilt, yelping and sucking on the tip of the finger when it got burnt. Slowly, he turned to the couple and smiled (with his injured finger still in his mouth).

At which point Ketar's eyes widened in horror as a finger came up to point at him. "Oh no."

The Breton grinned. "Oh yes."

"No. No-no-no-no-no, this is _not_ happening."

"This is _totally_ happening."

"We are not going through this again, _I_ am not going through this again."

"Why _not_? It was so much fun the last time!"

Serana glanced between the two men, confusion written all over her features as she wondered aloud, "What are you two _talking_ about?" She pointed at the newcomer. "And who the hell is this?"

Ketar grumbled and rolled his eyes with a stank face at the other Breton. "This is…Sam Guevenne. He's…" his arms crossed defensively, "an old acquaintance."

"Sam" grinned from ear to ear. "I was an old drinking buddy of his a few months back." He approached them and leaned against a wall. "Had one hell of a wild night, we did."

"Yeah," Ketar grumbled, "so wild I couldn't remember how I got halfway across Skyrim the next morning. I had a hangover the size of _Whiterun_."

"Ah…good times."

Serana looked at Ketar for a long while, noting how red his features had become. "Kay…is there something I should know?"

His blue eyes went wide in horror. " _No_."

"Yes," laughed Sam.

Ketar shot him a glare. "No, and that's final."

Sam pouted and crossed his arms petulantly. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not the boss of me."

"Well technically you're in my house—trespassing in my house at that—so yeah, I think I can."

Sam groaned and waved at him dismissively, turning to Serana with a salacious grin. "My, my…you might be the worst kind of stiff, but I must say you have _exquisite_ tastes."

Sera arched an eyebrow at him. "You might want to watch yourself. He gets as jealous as I do."

The Breton chuckled, then broke out into loud peals of laughter. "And just as sassy!" He grinned conspiratorially and gently nudged Ketar with his elbow. "You really hit the jackpot with this one, buddy."

Ketar just kept blushing and resolutely refused to look at him.

Finally, Sam sighed and returned his attention to Serana. "Well since he's not gonna tell you, I will. This guy—" he elbowed Ketar again, "—was down in the dumps after he cured himself a while back." He winked at her conspiratorially. "I think you know what I mean. And anyway, I thought…hey, he looks like he could use some pick-me-up, soooo…" he leisurely leaned back against the wall and eyed a pouting Ketar, "I tracked him down to this skeevy inn in the frozen ass-end of nowhere and challenged him to a drinking contest."

He chuckled. "Suffice to say, things got a little out of hand, but considering his state of mind…" he shrugged, "I think a little loosening up did him some good."

Serana stared at Sam, her gaze shifting to Ketar, who was still blushing and obviously embarrassed, then back to Sam. "How did you know about his…I mean, you two don't exactly seem like close friends, and he's never mentioned you before…" Her glowing eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute."

Sam smirked.

"Sam…Guevenne."

"Yep," sang the Breton.

"Sam." Her eyes widened dramatically. "Guevenne. Oh my gods."

He grinned. "And there it is."

"He's—" she glanced at a facepalming Ketar, then back to Sam, "—you're—"

"Lord Sanguine, Daedric Prince of debauchery, desire, and all things partygoing." He bowed dramatically. "At your service."

Serana gaped at him, slowly shifting her attention to Ketar. "Kay…what is a Daedric Lord doing in our living room?"

Ketar groaned and banged his forehead into the wall. "Planning to ruin my life," he replied.

"Oh contraire, my friend," Sanguine replied with a smile and a sling of his arm around his shoulders. "I'm here to make this the best, craziest wedding in the last _century_. And trust me," he chuckled, "that's saying something."

"You came here…to plan our wedding?" Serana asked incredulously.

Sanguine drew back and gave her a sideways look. "And why not? I mean, last time I saw him, he was depressed as hell. I just felt _sorry_ for the guy, but now?" He laughed. "He's about to tie to knot with the hottest vampire chick this side of Coldharbour. And that's saying something with your mother in the picture, know what I mean?" He grinned at Serana and waggled his eyebrows.

She shuddered and grimaced. "Ugh, eww. Please stop."

"See what I mean?" Ketar hissed through his teeth.

"Well _I_ for one don't mind at all," said Lydia, who was grinning and injecting herself into the situation. "I think this is gonna be _great_ fun, now that I've got someone to plan this shindig with."

Ketar's eyes went triple the width of what they were supposed to. "You two—working together?" His head started shaking rapidly. "Nuh-uh. Nope. Oh _hell_ no."

"Come _on_ ," Sanguine protested, "it'll be _great_!"

Ketar gave them both a deadpan glare when Sanguine threw his arm around a grinning Lydia's shoulders. "Leaving two raging alcoholics in charge of my wedding planning…riiight."

Sanguine held an index up. "Ah—and don't forget the bachelor and bachelorette parties," he sang.

"No, that's not—"

"Oh come on," Lydia protested. "You _gotta_ at least have those."

"No, and that's final."

Serana came up behind Ketar and threw her arms around him with a smirk. "I don't know. Sounds like it could be fun."

He looked back at her in horror. "Oh not you too."

She smiled and kissed his neck. "Come on, Kay. You told me yourself: weddings are supposed to be the one time where we don't care what anyone thinks of us. So loosen up. I promise, no one will think twice if you make a bit of a fool out of yourself."

Ketar snorted. "It's not me I'm worried about. It's everyone else. I can't _imagine_ anyone will survive a wedding planned by _these_ two with all their bits intact."

Sanguine grinned. "But that's the whole _fun_ of it!"

Serana's betrothed sent her a pleading look.

She just smiled and kissed him, then turned to the pair standing and grinning in front of them. "I'm okay with it, but if you really don't want to…then we'll find someone else."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly as he considered Lydia and Sanguine, no doubt imagining all the carnage that would be left in their wake should he agree to this. At least, that's the way it looked based on how pale he became. Finally, with a hard sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off an incoming headache.

"I just know I'm gonna regret this…fine," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Sorry, what?" Sanguine asked, inclining his ear.

Ketar gave him a deadpan glare and raised his voice to a painful volume, shouting directly in his ear. "I said _fiiiine_! Do whatever you want. Just know that if I hear about anyone maiming themselves or lighting themselves on fire and streaking across Whiterun, you are both _so_ fired…no pun intended."

Lydia squealed and squashed Ketar to her chest. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" After disengaging from him, she immediately linked her arm with the Daedra's and smiled madly, eyes much wider than normal. "I have _so_ many ideas…"

Sanguine grinned, all teeth. "I think you and I are going to get along juuuust fine."

The pair practically skipped off into a side room, shutting the door behind them. Once Serana managed to calm her laughter, she turned to see Ketar staring at the closed door with a look of abject horror on his face.

"What have I done?" he asked in shock.

Serana chuckled into his neck, nuzzling his skin. "Don't worry about it, love. I'm sure Lydia will keep him from planning anything _too_ crazy."

Ketar snorted. "Are you kidding? I'm willing to bet hard money that _he'll_ be the one reining _her_ in."

She just kept laughing.

…

The art of wielding a katana was just that: art. From the start of Brelyna's magical career, she'd been much more science-oriented, between the theories and book learning and experimentation. Everything was based on hard facts and consistent scientific and magical principles. With the Akaviri swords of the Blades, there was a little science and the rest was an exercise in creative expressionism. There was a discipline to it, to be sure, but within the confines of that discipline, the strokes and arcs of movement were infinite. It was like a dance of steel and never-ending motion.

And Brelyna was loving every _second_ of it.

For the first time in her life, she was practicing something in which she could completely cut loose. It was dangerous, yes, but she didn't have to double and triple-check her motions every time she wanted to take a swing like she did with magic. If you made a mistake with a katana, you made cuts or gashes, even deep ones, but not typically life-threatening. If you made a mistake with magic, you could blow yourself to Oblivion…literally. Right now, Brelyna was practically grinning with exhilaration as she laid one fast swipe after another on Delphine's guard.

Their blades skated and pinged against each other as Brelyna broke in her new weapon with a practice bout. They might've used wooden swords of similar shape and weight to start with, but Delphine's particular brand of training emphasized starting at the top, same as with physical training. After all, one never could know what they're truly capable of until they're forced to fight to their limit. The added edge of real danger sharpened Brelyna's reflexes and combat instincts, something the Blade had told her was naturally sharp and just needed some practice.

Brelyna released a sharp cry as she twirled her body in a falling diagonal cut aimed at Delphine's left shoulder. The Blade pivoted her body away from the blow and performed a wing-block as she pirouetted away to a safe distance. Brelyna whirled to face her, holding her weapon two-handedly and releasing a slow breath. Delphine smirked as the Dunmer surged forward, sword held high. The Blade ducked down and away from the incoming swipe, driving the hilt of her sword into Lyn's gut and following up with a shin-kick to the lower rib cage. The combined attacks served to send Brelyna sliding back across the stones, coughing hard and nearly collapsing to her knees.

She shakily managed to maintain her footing, keeping her sword trained on Delphine as the other woman advanced with almost leisurely steps, her sword held down and out to the side. Brelyna took a single step back, then came in with a series of fast overhead cuts, Delphine dodging and countering with a spinning swipe at her midsection. Lyn fell into a backward roll, rising to a crouch and blocking an overhead strike with the flat of her blade. Gritting her teeth, the Dunmer shifted her sword slightly, allowing the downward force of Delphine's katana to send it sliding down across the curve of her blade.

Brelyna pushed up with her back foot, spinning clockwise around the older woman's body and swinging horizontally for her back. Delphine rolled forward, away from her swipe, and came back up as Brelyna pushed the advantage with another fast overhead. Lyn's red eyes went wide when her blade skidded down off the armor on Delphine's shoulder, and she felt the faint click of her opponent's blade-tip against her own chestplate. The Dunmer gulped hard and slowly withdrew, lowering her sword and switching it to an underhanded grip as she stood at attention. Delphine did the same a moment later, and they bowed to each other in respect.

"A fine duel," said Delphine. "You're naturally talented with a sword, and this type in particular. The weight and balance of it is usually pretty off-putting to new practitioners, but you seem to be picking it up rather quickly." She snorted a laugh and nodded at a nearby Agmaer. "Unlike him."

Agmaer snorted as he laid into a dummy with his wakizashi, aiming for precise cuts at vital areas. "I'm not used to how light this thing is. The balance is all wrong compared to what I usually have. Put an axe in my hand, and I'll make that thing sing…even if I _hate_ fighting up close."

Delphine sheathed her sword, Brelyna doing the same as they approached him.

"Besides," he added with a grunt of effort, "I only plan to use this in my off-hand, so I don't see why I have to practice with both."

"For control and a baseline," Delphine answered, gripping his forearms. "You'll notice I advised you to place your left hand at the top of the grip, with your right on the bottom, despite you being right-handed. The reason, of course, is _because_ you intend to use it in your off-hand. Having the right applied as well is a supplement to give you a little extra control, so your body knows what it feels like to cut correctly when you switch to just one."

"Ahh, _I_ see." He realigned himself and came in for an overhead.

Delphine frowned a little. "The wide strikes are okay for a longer blade, as a general rule. It takes some space to accelerate that much weight to cutting speed. However, even then you'll want to decrease the charge-up space or you risk telegraphing your strikes. Do that with a shorter blade, like a wakizashi, and the reduced range of your blade not only gives the enemy more time and space to get away, but leaves you more open to counterattack."

Agmaer nodded and pursed his lips, his strikes becoming tighter and more coordinated. Brelyna couldn't help but smile at his concentration, crossing her arms as she openly admired his efforts.

"What do you think _you're_ doing?"

Brelyna blinked and turned to Delphine. "Huh?"

Delphine slowly drew her katana with a sinister smirk. "You and I aren't _nearly_ finished."

A slow gulp passed through the girl's throat as she drew as well, moving back toward the center of the training room.

"Have fun," Agmaer sang.

"Don't get too comfortable yourself," Delphine shouted back with a grin. "You're next."

…

Serana absently chewed on the feathered end of a quill as she pored over the guest list, the quiet conversation and laughter in the background pulling her attention from time to time. After Sanguine—or Sam, as Ketar resolutely refused to call him by his Daedric name—went off with Lydia to plot some madness for their wedding, Ketar decided to move their own planning to Dragonsreach. He was currently sitting cross-legged on Odahviing's back and using his shackles as a worktable—which annoyed the dragon to no end, but he wasn't exactly in a position to argue.

After the first ten minutes, Odahviing had pretty much given up on getting him off and relaxed, listening to the quiet scratching of Ketar's quill against parchment. Serana was a ways off, working on her end of the list, both halves of which they'd compare for overlap and combine once done. She was still within earshot, however, when Ketar asked Odahviing a dead serious question.

"Is power all you care about?"

The dragon hesitated a moment. "What do you mean?"

Ketar sighed. "It's just…something you said earlier that's been bugging me. You said the dragons have been debating whether Alduin's Voice is the strongest. Is that all you care about? Is that the only thing you value when it comes to leadership?"

Odahviing thought a while. "Not only that, but it is a considerable factor of whether or not we decide to forsake his lordship. After all, a rebellion is only worthwhile if it has a chance of success."

She could hear the frown in Ketar's answer. "That's not how I see it. As dragons, you are kin to Alduin, but more than that, you're the children of Akatosh."

"…I do not follow."

"What I'm saying is, your loyalty to Alduin shouldn't be blind, or based on power alone. That he makes you afraid shouldn't be enough of a reason not to defy him, and that goes for _any_ leader. As vassals, it is your responsibility to safeguard your lord, even if that means from himself. Akatosh created the race of dragons, and Alduin in particular, not to consume mortal lives and souls, but to _protect_ them. The rest of you were born to assist in that endeavor, not follow him into madness." She looked over and saw his frown deepen as he laid his quill down. "The dragons were never meant to be mankind's rulers. They were meant as _protectors_. And _I_ only exist because you failed in that."

Odahviing stared off into the distance, remaining silent.

Ketar laid a hand on the side of the dragon's neck. "Please don't get me wrong—I understand if you only followed Alduin out of fear; I've known otherwise good people to make horrific decisions in the grip of terror. But…that you stayed, that it took an age of war and an eternity of death for you to realize your mistake…" His jaw tightened. "Let's just say I understand why the Blades want to kill every last one of you."

"…then why do you not assist them?"

He sighed hard. "Because while I share their hunger for justice, I also believe in redemption. You are my kin, whether they like it or not, and I take no pleasure in cutting you down. That I've slain dozens of your kind is not a testament to my hatred. It's simply me making the decision that you _all_ should've a long time ago: to defy the tyranny of your fellow dragons…even if the odds are stacked against you." He took a deep breath and picked up his quill. "I understand if you're not willing to pledge your loyalty to me, but if you won't abandon your vassalage to Alduin...then I'm afraid once you drop me off at Skuldafn, we're going to be enemies."

"Then you intend to take my offer?"

Ketar nodded slowly. "I do."

Odahviing grunted. " _Onikraan koraav gein miraad_. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. _Zu'u ni tahrodiis_. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule."

"Based on his actions or my power?"

"…both. Even when you do not speak in the language of _dovah_ , your voice echoes with authority and wisdom that _far_ outweighs his. Every word that proceeds from _his_ mouth is laced with bitterness and venom. It is…refreshing that one with such power should apply it so gently."

Ketar smiled and looked over at Serana, who hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. "Well I'm sure my bride-to-be will appreciate that on our wedding night."

The vampire's face heated when he winked and gave her a wolfish grin. So preoccupied was she with returning her attention to the guest list that she never caught how badly _he_ was blushing. A few minutes later, she felt a presence approach her side, and looked up to see Sam push himself into a sitting position on her table.

Serana arched an eyebrow. "Do you mind?"

Sam blinked and glanced down at the papers his bottom was smushing. He smirked and shifted himself just enough to free them. "So how are things on your end? Makin' some headway?"

She gave him a wary glance and nodded, returning her eyes to the paper. "I think I'm almost done with my end. I mean…I probably could've been done a lot sooner, but…" she blushed again and cast a longing look in a laughing Ketar's direction, "he is _really_ distracting."

She didn't realize she was staring until Guevenne pointed it out.

"Wow," said the Daedra in disguise, "you've got it _baaaad_. And from what Lydia tells me, he still hasn't given it up."

Sera groaned and laid her head in her hands. "No. Apparently he made a promise when he was fourteen or something. He won't go all the way until our wedding night."

Sanguine stared at her for a second, then at him, and started cackling uproariously. "Oh, he _would_ say that, the stiff. I couldn't even get him to break that rule when he was blacked-out drunk." His head tilted as he tapped his lower lip with his index. "Although, considering how he keeps eyeing you…I think he might make an exception for you…hmm…"

Serana's brows furrowed as she threw him a questioning look. "What?"

"Hmm…" Sam kept humming as a devious smirk twitched at his lips and he leaned down toward Serana. "Say…you _really_ want him, dontcha?"

She glanced at Ketar's smiling face and felt herself heat up all over, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, um…"

"Don't even try to deny it, honey. If there's anything I know well, it's hunger, and yours is a very special one I'm _intimately_ familiar with."

Her lips pursed tightly. "So?"

Sam shrugged and distractedly picked at his nails. "So, if I were to have, say…a _magical_ _elixir_ , aaaand say this elixir had enough potency to get a _mammoth_ feeling frisky." He leaned down over her, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And say that elixir were to find its way into his drink…and I were to walk him home like a good friend, and make sure his fiancé was there to take him off my hands." He grinned. "And say I…just so happened to lock the door behind me on the way out…"

Serana's eyes widened dramatically as her gaze alternated between Sam and Ketar. Images ran through her head like rapid strikes of lightning, images of…ideas she'd been storing up for a rainy day…

A huff passed through her throat as she wiped a hand across her face, frowning deeply. "No."

Sam's eyebrows shot upward. "No?"

Serana blinked and looked up at him with a shake of her head. "It's tempting, but my answer is no." She looked over at her fiancé, face heating at the sight of his smile. "If I were to agree to that…yeah, he might go all the way, but he's no idiot. He'd figure out exactly what happened, and probably who the culprit was too." She looked down. "And he'd find out that I went along with it. He might enjoy the moment because of what's running through his system, but once he's sober…I guarantee he'll resent _both_ of us." Sera sighed hard. "And I could never do that to him…so I'll be patient." She smirked. "Even if it drives me mad."

Sam had a bored look on his face when she looked back up. "Eh…this sensitivity crap is boring as hell." He nodded sideways at Ketar. "I think his stiffness is rubbing off on you."

Sera grinned. "Oh, don't worry, once that last barrier is removed, it _will_ be."

He stared at her for a second before falling into a series of manic chuckles. "Oh I see what you did there." He winked. "Good luck holding back." He pushed off the table and headed for the exit with a backward wave. "You're gonna _need_ it."

Serana smirked and shook her head as she desperately tried to focus on her task. She couldn't when she just started laughing, instead leaning back in her seat and letting her imagination run wild.

…

It was with heavy breaths and exhausted muscles that Brelyna and Agmaer finally collapsed onto the training benches. They were laid out all the way on their backs, practically gasping for air after the thorough thrashing they'd both received from Delphine. After her one-on-one duels with Brelyna and Agmaer, she'd pitted herself against both of them at once and demonstrated her superiority by taking them apart as if it were nothing (Agmaer insisted that his lack of an axe was the only reason they lost). That was disheartening enough, but after she'd disarmed her trainees, Delphine dropped her own sword and waved them forward to fight hand-to-hand.

Both had been pinned in a matter of seconds, though the Blade could only hold onto one of them at a time, so they eventually came up with a strategy of tag-teaming. Every time she got one of them on the ground, the other would pick up the slack. If nothing else, it was a war of attrition, to see who would tire first. Amazingly, Delphine won, despite being almost twice their age, but even _she_ was breathing heavily by the end of it. Which, for them, was about the greatest victory they'd had all day.

Delphine, on the other hand, was laughing breathlessly, leaning against a wall herself. "Not bad…for a pair of rookies. That tactic you used, those endless cascading attacks—that was the whole point of this exercise. Being able to work effectively as a team and not just an individual is a key part of becoming a Blade. Slaying these wyrms will take dedication, courage, and—most importantly—teamwork. The only person I know who can take on a dragon alone and win is Ketar Dov, and he's practically a dragon himself. Confront one of them by yourself, and you'll lose, or at the least walk out severely injured. If one attacks when you're alone, look for cover and ways to even the odds, but do not take it on in open combat under any circumstances."

Agmaer nodded slowly, gasping, "Understood."

Delphine smiled and straightened herself up, arms crossed. "You two are doing quite well. Keep this up and you'll be full-fledged Blades in no time. For now, go back to your quarters and rest. You've earned it."

"Thank you," they chorused.

She gave them a parting wave as she left the training room. The pair was on their backs on the same bench, forehead to forehead. They looked up at each other and grinned from ear to ear as they rolled over and slowly pushed themselves into a sitting position. Brelyna's hand entered his, their fingers lacing together through the fingerless gloves of their gauntlets. They'd each been issued a traditional Blades training uniform comprised of a thin, sleeveless tunic and two leather gauntlets that simulated the restriction they'd feel while handling their swords in full armor. Brelyna was leery about eventually having to wear the Blades' heavy armor, but Agmaer had assured her it wasn't much of a learning curve once she got the hang of the weight—if it was properly fitted.

Delphine had assured her it would be.

At present, Brelyna wasn't worried about any of that. She was leaning into Agmaer's chest, their interlaced hands clutched to her own.

"You know what's been getting me through all this?"

He hummed against the side of her head, his free hand stroking her hair. "What?"

"This." She tightened her grip around his hand in indication. "The thought of having this to look forward to at the end of the day." She laid her head on his pectorals, gently rubbing her cheek against his tunic. "I don't think I could've kept going without you."

Agmaer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "You're selling yourself too short, Lyn. You're strong on your own, and very much so. You just needed a little push."

"And you gave it to me…you _keep_ giving it to me, time after time, when I need it the most." Brelyna nuzzled his chest, causing him to hiss a bit in pain. "Sorry," she chuckled. "Almost forgot you've been working as hard as me. It's a bit difficult to notice when you're getting sore because you've got—" she pinched his exposed bicep, "—all _this_."

He laughed and squeezed her tightly. "You've got a bit of lean muscle yourself, Lyn. And it's building even faster now." He grinned and poked her cheek. "You've been healing yourself after training, haven't you?"

She hid her face in his tunic to hide the darkening of her skin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh. Sure you don't, naughty girl."

She cast him a deadpan look. "Really?"

"I don't have that. Why should I suffer and you don't?"

"I do still have to get through the day without collapsing, you know."

"But _I_ have to deal with the soreness that follows the next morning."

"I could always heal you too." Brelyna kissed his chin. "After all, I _am_ your girlfriend."

Agmaer tensed up a bit before he relaxed and sighed, his fingers tightening around hers as he smiled against her forehead. "Yeah…yeah you are."

"…so is that a yes?"

" _No_. My Nord pride won't allow me."

"You know you'll get stronger faster if you can push more frequently, so why not go back to a hundred percent—or close?"

"I said no and that's final." He almost sounded like he was whining at this point.

"Stop being such a guy!"

"Noooo…"

"I'm gonna keep poking your sore chest until you give in. You think I won't?"

"Ow-ow-ow—so _that's_ how you're gonna play it? Okay."

Delphine and whoever else was living in Sky Haven Temple couldn't possibly have avoided the delighted shrieks that came from the training room as the Blades' newest recruits spent their early evening embroiled in a tickle war. They were sure to keep it down when their hands were used for… _other_ struggles.

…

"Ha! I win!"

Lydia cast a fearsome glare at Brynjolf, who was triumphantly shaking his empty tankard at her prone form. At long last, they'd gotten around to that drinking contest. The terms were set, everything was ready, and they'd been at this practically all night, much to the entertainment of the Bannered Mare's staff and patrons. Lydia lost count of the casks of ale she'd already consumed, and being able to see straight was about as likely as Alduin was to surrender. But still, she pressed on, pulling herself off the floor and reaching for the next cask with shaky hands.

A flicker of red in her peripheral vision caught her attention for the briefest of moments before she refocused on gulping down the next liquid set in front of her. Almost immediately, her opponent started slurring his words more and more, while her stomach began to settle and orientation shifted back to something in the vicinity of normalcy. Confused but undeterred, Lydia plowed forth and kept going, knocking one tankard back after the next until she slammed one down with a grin.

"Still think you're winning?"

Brynjolf eyed her with a half-terrified look as he tried to get his fingers around the next mug. "I'm—just—takin' a breather."

He gulped hard, looking down into his tankard and apparently not liking what he found, because he seized up and tilted his head sideways, vomiting into a bucket chosen for that express reason.

Lydia just grinned and leaned back in her seat, saluting him with her mug.

"I win," she said before taking a victory swig.

As she set it down, however, that same flicker of red was seen in her peripheral vision, and this time, without the game to distract her (and her vision no longer tripled), she was able to look. It was dim, and the room was filled with smoke, but there was no mistaking those devious Breton features. Lydia's heart immediately sank, her exhilaration short-lived as she realized the truth: she was a victim of nepotism. Sanguine had interfered and effectively switched their levels of inebriation in the middle of the game. The disguised Daedra sent her a wink from across the room, grinning like a fiend.

Lydia gave him a weak smile in return, then turned to a sullen and pale Brynjolf, who was finishing emptying the contents of his stomach.

He didn't even look at her when he spoke his next words, afraid to lift his head too far. "Guess you win this time, lass." He breathed heavily a few times. "You'll have your money by week's end, I promise." He smiled weakly. "With interest."

Lydia just nodded silently, sinking into her seat as she polished off the dregs of her mug.

 _I won. This is what I wanted, right? Got him back for all the times he cheated me._

Her green eyes locked onto Brynjolf's nauseated features as she frowned deeply.

 _So why does this victory feel so hollow?_

* * *

AN: Yay! Another one bites the dust as we steadily approach the wedding day. I really wanted to throw some Brynjolf and Lydia in there because I feel like I've neglected them the whole story. That said, I hope you all found the rest of the chapter to your liking, especially the new character I introduced to this mess. Hehe some of you kept talking about him in the reviews, and I was like, "STOP! You're predicting all my plot points!"

But yeah, I'd planned for Sanguine to assist in the wedding planning from the beginning of this story. As you can already see, hijinks will ensue from his incessant meddling. The Blades training took a little thought on my part, mostly because I wasn't quite sure where to focus with them and their developing relationship. I hope it was satisfactory.

Not much else to say, so I'll leave it at that. Hope you enjoyed it.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

TES IV: Oblivion – King and Country: Ketar and Odahviing's debate/Serana and Sam's considerations

Dragon language translations:

" _Ni faas, Dovahkiin_!" – I am not afraid, Dragonborn!

" _Horvutah med kodaav_ _." – Lured like a bear._

 _"Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki_ , _Dovahkiin_." – I was too hot to defeat you in battle, Dragonborn.

" _Zu mindoraan pruzah_ , Odahviing. _Pahlok do_ Alduin _dein_ _nol tinvaak tol_." – I understand perfectly, Odahviing. The arrogance of Alduin kept him from saying as much.

" _Zu'u bonaar_." - I am humbled.

" _Hind siiv_ Alduin, _geh_?" – You want to find Alduin, yes?

"Alduin _bovul_." – Alduin fled.

" _Mu ni meyye_." – We are not fools.

" _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til_." – Understand, all his loyal dragons are mustered there.

" _Zu'u lost ofan hin laan_ _." – I have granted your request._

 _"Zu mindoraan_ , _Dovahkiin_." – I understand, Dragonborn.

" _Joor mey_ _!" – Mortal fool!_


	15. Daedric Debauchery

It was marvelous how quickly the planning stage went by.

Between Lydia's relentless work and Sanguine's apparent previous experience with such things (which frightened Ketar to no end), the planning of Ketar and Serana's wedding lasted barely two days. Gathering all the required material, however, now that would last the rest of the week. With Kay's wealth, it was really just a matter of time before everything was set. Unfortunately, since the bachelor and bachelorette parties were a surprise for the groom and bride, that meant Ketar basically had to give his planners a blank bank note and trust that they wouldn't clean him out.

It was, surprisingly enough, Brynjolf who talked him into doing it, at least in front of everyone. In private, the master thief had assured him that any overspending would be quickly repossessed by him and the Guild, so he told Ketar not to worry. The completed invitations were being sent out by Ketar's own private fleet of messenger ravens, something most never even knew he had. Every one of them had been given its own name in _Dovahzul_. Everything was perfect, moving forward exactly on schedule.

So why did Ketar feel so on edge?

It was like for the past two days, he'd been looking over his shoulder for something to pop out of nowhere and wreck him. At first, he thought it might've been Sanguine, but he'd been nowhere near for most of the times it'd happened. His instincts weren't lying, though, that much was clear. They never misfired, and certainly not a dozen times in two days. He told Lydia about it because he didn't want to worry Serana, and she said she'd keep an eye out, but it was probably just the nerves before a wedding. He hoped that was it, but "cold feet" was an unfamiliar sensation to him.

This wasn't.

He'd felt it more than a few times before. Once, before the previous leader of the Dark Brotherhood kidnapped and inducted him into her order; then again, when Windstad Manor was attacked by the Thalmor. More recently, he'd felt it before the dragon attack on their way back to Skyrim. Every single time there had been an enemy stalking him from the shadows, or somewhere out of sight, his instincts had flared up this way, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was this time. Whatever the case, he'd resolved to take Lydia's advice and not worry about things so much.

After all, he was getting married soon, hopefully by the end of the week, and being such a worry-wart was going to put a serious downer on the celebrations. At present, he was trying to choose between honeyed mead or ale as the main drink at the reception.

His lips pursed as he hummed and gave the floor a sideways frown. "Well…I'd go for mead under one condition."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"It has to be Black-Briar or nothing."

"Eh? Seriously?"

"Yes. Is that such a surprise?"

"No, I just…that's a bit pricey for mass acquisition, don't you think? I know you're rich, but we don't wanna break the bank."

Ketar grinned. "You have no idea how much I drop on enchanting materials, do you? If you think a few dozen kegs of Black-Briar mead are enough to break _my_ bank, you're in for a surprise."

Lydia shrugged. "Okay. Just makin' sure you don't have buyer's remorse the morning after."

He frowned and looked off to the side, head leaning on his fist. "I'm more worried about having a different kind of remorse."

The housecarl furrowed her brows at him. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

He blinked and stared at her. "What? No, of co—"

"I _knew_ it! You're getting cold feet because all this planning is making the reality start to sink in!"

"No! That's not it at all!" Ketar relaxed and smiled at the ground. "In truth, I've never been surer of anything in my life. I'm just afraid…I'm afraid…" His face started burning up, unable to voice his thoughts.

"…oooooh…I get it."

He blinked. "You do?"

Lydia frowned and slowly nodded her head. "Yep. I've seen _this_ before."

Ketar arched a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

She pointed at his face. "You've got virgin-fever."

His cheeks instantly went cherry-red. "V-Virgin fever?"

Lydia nodded gravely. "Every unexperienced guy goes through this before his first time. The cold sweats, the endless visions of failure, the sinking fear of inadequacy."

Ketar shrank into his seat.

"I've been with my fair share of first-timers, and let me tell you: they all have that in common, no matter how pure or naughty their thoughts have been." Lydia smirked and shook her head. "I was starting to think I'd never see that look on you, but here we are." She held up one finger and puffed her ample chest out. "I'm going to give you a small piece of advice as your big sister, and you better listen close."

He sighed. "Does it have to do with—"

"Of _course_ it does, but it has nothing to do with position or technique; all that will be up to you and her." Lydia smiled a little. "Accept the fact that you have no idea what you're doing. Just accept that going in and keep an open mind, and you'll be fine. Trust me, Serana knows exactly how little experience you have with women. I mean, she _should_ —she's the only one you've ever been with. I guarantee she has no expectations as far as your performance goes, and part of the fun of being new to it all is learning how things work." She chuckled. "Actually, I kinda envy you, being able to reach out and touch someone like that for the very first time."

Ketar stared at her for a while, slowly falling into a fit of quiet chuckles. "You know, throughout that whole lecture, I didn't realize the most important thing you said until now."

"…huh?"

He smiled at the floor, then up at her. "You called yourself my sister."

Lydia blinked and blushed a bit. "Uh…y-yeah, I guess I did."

Ketar smiled a little wider, standing up and hugging her tightly. His voice lowered to a near-whisper. "I'm glad."

Her body was tense against his, a small tremble present in her shoulders as she slowly curled her arms around him. They remained that way, standing in a tender embrace, until Sanguine walked in on them and jokingly commented on Ketar's "two-timing." Then they'd _both_ pummeled him for that one.

…

Agmaer and Brelyna were taking a breather when Delphine walked in on them holding hands. They'd tensed up for a second, quickly releasing and looking away from each other like kids caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Delphine gave them a long stare before rolling her eyes and sidling off toward a nearby fountain, one of the many that she and Esbern had restored in their repairs to the temple. She drank from the rushing flow for a while, wiping her lips once done and turning back toward the young couple. They were still refusing to look at each other.

Delphine groaned and rolled her eyes as she strode toward them. "For the love of Talos, would you two stop it already?"

Agmaer cleared his throat. "S-Stop what?"

She gave him a deadpan glare. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Of course not," Brelyna answered.

"Then hold hands already and stop insulting my intelligence."

"…what?"

"But we thought—"

"Thought what?" Delphine interrupted. "That I'd disapprove of a relationship between you?" She waved dismissively. "I've known about you two from the _beginning_. You weren't exactly subtle about it. Though normally, fraternization is…discouraged among military ranks, we aren't exactly an army. We're dragonslayers, knights-errant, and, quite frankly, outlaws. Discipline is good and well, but you need to know how to unwind too. If you're always tight as a spring, you're bound to tense up and make a mistake eventually."

"Well, it's…more than just unwinding," Brelyna said shyly, hands clasped in front of her.

"Did I ask? Your personal life is your business, Maryon." She nodded to Agmaer. "And the same goes for you. So long as it doesn't interfere with your work, I don't give a damn how you spend your time together."

The couple exchanged a smile and nodded to her.

"Thank you," said Agmaer.

Delphine nodded back. "Now, break's over. Let's get back to—"

" _Caaaw_!"

The air-splitting squawk of a raven reached their ears moments before a hole in the ceiling permitted one of the large black birds entry. It immediately made its way to Delphine, flapping its wings several times to slow down, then landing on her gauntleted forearm. The Blade blinked rapidly until she saw the pouch on its leg and reached down to pull out a small scroll. Her eyes widened when it unfurled fully.

"What?" asked Brelyna. "What is it?"

"It's…Ketar," she replied.

"Of course it is," Agmaer chuckled. "Only he would go for something so theatric."

Delphine frowned. "It says here that I've been invited…" her eyes widened, "to a _wedding_."

Agmaer laughed. "Well I'll be…he actually did it."

She blinked and looked over at him. "You knew about this?"

He shrugged and crossed his arms. "With the way he looks at Serana? I'm surprised he didn't get engaged sooner."

Her attention returned to the paper. "Says here that the wedding will be held in Whiterun at the end of this week, but that some pre-ceremony festivities will be commencing the night before." Her eyes widened. "And…he says _you're_ both invited too." She frowned and rolled up the scroll. "How'd he even know you were here? Did you tell anyone of your plans?"

"No," said Brelyna, "I never had a chance." She turned to Agmaer. "You?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Didn't tell a soul."

Delphine grunted and stared at the paper. "So it's true after all; he really _does_ have eyes everywhere." She drew in a long breath. "Well then…I guess we only have three days to keep training, and then it's off to Whiterun."

Their eyebrows shot skyward.

Delphine grinned malevolently. "Which means I'll be training you twice as hard from here to there."

A mutual gulp passed through their throats.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

…

By the time evening rolled around on the fourth day of preparation, Ketar's skin was practically crawling with unease, though he did his best not to show it. He'd gotten into the habit of visiting Odahviing in Dragonsreach to keep his promise of keeping the dragon entertained, and after a while, Serana had taken up those visits as well. She'd even begun engaging in their conversations, listening to Odahviing recount events in ancient history that she'd only ever read about. The vampire had also been continuing her education in _Dovahzul_ , and had gotten to the point where she could understand most of what they spoke about when they switched to the dragon tongue.

She actually managed to get a word or two in herself from time to time.

The first time that had happened, Odahviing broke out laughing (which shook the whole hall) and Ketar had been unable to stop grinning for a full fifteen minutes. It was after one such event that they headed back home, and were almost to the exit of Dragonsreach when Ketar's unease flared up violently. He stopped short, his arm around Serana's shoulders, and quickly released her as he looked around them.

Sera frowned at his disturbed expression. "Kay? What's wrong?"

Ketar's lips pursed, his eyes roving the space of Dragonsreach's great hall and desperately trying to figure out the answer to that question. "I don't know. I just…feel so—"

He stopped short when he realized that, except for the two of them, there wasn't a soul in sight, not even the guards. A cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, his breathing becoming labored as he scanned the room for danger. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by an explosive whir that split the air—and a bright flash of light that followed. Ketar put a hand over his eyes to let his eyes adjust (which was nothing compared to what Serana had to do), and when they did, he finally understood why his instincts had been firing non-stop.

Throughout the past few days, he'd been stalked by the woman that now sat hovering before him, a beautiful woman clad in hooded robes, whose form shone like the sun. Well…not quite. The moment her face materialized in his vision fully, and he saw the furious scowl plastered to her features, alarm shot through his system like a lightning bolt, and his head whirled toward Serana. A million thoughts ran through his head at once, one quickly rising to the fore as his jaw tightened.

 _Father, please…protect her._

Ketar's fingers laced together, his hands pulling apart and moving counterclockwise as his rift materialized, the gateway considerably larger than usual. The glowing woman's features flared with blinding light as her clenched teeth bared and her arms splayed outward. Serana's eyes widened, and she cried out in alarm at the brightness of the mysterious visitor—and because Ketar threw her into the rift. A split-second after the sundial and its new occupant vanished, the visitor's light became so bright, even Ketar was blinded for a moment, and the ground around and behind him was slightly scorched.

A furious scowl adorned his features to match the one on the woman's as they faced each other.

"Ketar Dov," said the woman with an otherworldly, echoing voice, "you have some explaining to do."

"Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing." He smiled sardonically, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It's been quite a while…Meridia."

…

 _What is this? Am I dead?_

Serana blinked rapidly, unable to see a thing even in the pitch darkness that currently surrounded her.

 _This doesn't_ look _like Coldharbour, or at least…it's not how I imagined it._

She held a hand up in front of her face, surprised that she could see it, but nothing around her. She reached out to one side, stretching her arm while trying to stand and walk, but stopped short when the very air around her boomed with an otherworldly voice.

"I wouldn't recommend moving around much."

Serana froze, every muscle in her body shaking against her will. "Who's there?" She whirled around, her surroundings nothing but pitch darkness. "Show yourself!"

A pronounced sigh vibrated through the air. "I'm afraid that's a very bad idea. I don't think you'd be able to stand the sight of me."

She smirked. "I don't know. I'm a tough girl."

"That you are," the voice chuckled, "but in this case, your particular fortitude will work against you."

Serana blinked several times, trying to work out what he meant when she remembered what had happened right before she found herself in this darkness.

 _There was that light…a woman, and then…_

Her eyes went double-wide. "Oh gods…I'm in…"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Sera stared into the empty blackness. "Then…that means you're…you're _him_ , aren't you? Akatosh."

"I am."

The vampire kept shaking, feeling a surge of nausea and panic rising in her throat as she sank to her knees.

"Don't be afraid, child. No harm will come to you here."

She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in hyperventilating bursts. "But…I'm…in Aetherius, right? I'm _inside_ the sun."

"You are."

"Then…then how—"

"Ketar."

"What?"

"Before he sent you here, Ketar prayed to me and warned me you were coming. In those few seconds, I had just enough time to construct a space for you where the light of my realm would not be able to touch you. In effect, I am bending the very fabric of Aetherius around your body so you remain unharmed. That is why you cannot see."

"But…I've always been able to see in the dark."

"Perhaps in normal instances, yes, but even vampire eyes can only make sense of the dark when there is the faintest flicker of light. It is usually undetectable to mortal eyes, but the light is still there. In this sphere I've constructed, no light is able to reach you at all. You are, in effect, at the very center of a black hole, and just _maintaining_ it is occupying quite a bit of my concentration. It's why I told you not to move."

Serana nodded slowly, blushing a little when she realized her mistake. "Sorry. I just nodded."

Akatosh chuckled. "I know."

The realm was silent for a while as Serana mulled over her current circumstances.

"Why did Ketar throw me in here in the first place? I mean…he had to know how dangerous it was."

"He did," Akatosh replied. "But frankly, it would've been more dangerous to allow you to remain with him. The entity currently speaking with Ketar despises undead in any form, and, unlike me, is unwilling to make exceptions. I'm afraid all you can do now…is wait."

Serana frowned and hugged her knees, staring blankly into the complete darkness surrounding her.

…

Ketar's jaw clenched. "So…just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Meridia arched a glowing eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?"

His fists tightened. "Don't play coy, Meridia. You shouldn't even be here to _begin_ with. Manifesting yourself like this…that's gotta take some serious effort, not to mention you risk upsetting the natural order by releasing your power like that."

"Please. Some of my siblings have done far more."

"And because of that, we got the Oblivion Crisis."

Meridia frowned. "Point taken."

Ketar scowled. "But more than that…you just tried to kill Serana. _Why_?"

"Is this really such a surprise to you?" Her arms crossed. "You understand who and what I am, and as my champion, you know full well what I stand for."

"So?"

The Daedric Prince snarled. "So what in the hell are you doing marrying that _thing_?"

He huffed and shook his head slowly. "Unbelievable…it's like Daedric Isran." He frowned. "Look, I'll tell you what I told him: I trust Serana with my life, and the life of any innocent. I _love_ her."

"And that's the most disturbing part. You intend to build a life with a creature that isn't even _alive_."

"That's not what my father thinks."

Meridia's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Ketar tilted his head. "A month after we first got together, Akatosh told me to my face that he approved of our relationship."

"So?"

"So why can't you look past what she is to see _who_ she is, like he does?"

"Why would you think I'd abide by _his_ rules?"

"Because you share the same mission."

Meridia fell silent.

"Don't you? I mean, your sphere of influence is life and living energy, isn't it?"

"The undead are corruptions of that, and that is no truer than with vampires. They walk and talk like living sentient beings, yet are inherently corrupted by the source of their immortality."

"And you think that makes them inherently evil? Let me tell you something: I've known a lot of _truly_ evil beings in my life. Some of them have been vampires, some dragons, some another kind of monster; but most have been man or Mer. 'Uncorrupted,' pure living beings—at least from your point of view. The necromancers you've had me slay, the witches I've cut down, even the Thalmor, who are engaged in all _kinds_ of questionable dealings with regard to the alteration of life—all of them have been pure members of Tamriel's races. And beyond that, to those who would snuff life out without a second thought, like the dragons and Miraak—you don't really have any particular problem with them, do you?"

Meridia remained silent.

Ketar smiled nastily. "But my Sera, my beautiful betrothed, who has sacrificed so much in pursuit of justice, who's risked her life time and time again to rescue innocents from those who'd exploit and destroy them—you'd snuff _her_ out without a second thought. And take a _personal_ hand in it, too." His head shook slowly. "Shame on you."

"Serana is a being of unnatural order. The very source of her immortal body is a monster who delights in the suffering of others. No amount of 'good deeds' on her part can change what she is."

"I might say the same about you," he snarled.

Her eyes widened. " _What_?"

"Most people consider the Lords of the Daedra to be inherently evil. How would _you_ like it if people started lumping you together with the likes of Mehrunes Dagon, or Molag Bal _himself_ just by nature of you being a Daedra?"

Meridia's jaw clenched. "I am _nothing_ like them."

"Well neither is Serana like Bal. She turned on her own _father_ when he went off the deep end, when he tried to force his vision of the world, of a world controlled by the undead, and created an entire generation of new vampires to see it done." Ketar held his head high, shoulders broad. "Serana has stuck with me through the best and worst of times. She's never once let me down," he frowned and whined, "except when she rejected my proposal…" his gaze sharpened, "but that has nothing to do with this."

The Daedra stared at him, the room falling silent a while. "My very nature _rebels_ at her existence."

"I get that," he admitted, "but eliminating her won't further your end goals. In fact, it'll do the opposite. Serana serves life, same as I do. So let us keep working. Stop worrying about every little minutia and keep your eyes on the bigger picture." Ketar smiled. "I promise you won't regret it."

…

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, child."

"Do…do you really approve of me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's okay." Serana twirled a lock of her hair around her index as she frowned at the nonexistent ground. "You don't have to pull any punches with your answer. After all…Ketar's not around to hear."

"…"

"Akatosh?"

His answering voice was soft, but firm. "Do you really believe I mince words when speaking to my sons?"

Serana gulped. "I just…I thought you'd said all that because…you didn't want to hurt him."

Akatosh sighed. "Serana, if I never wanted my children to experience pain, I would never have sent them to this world. I may keep the truth from Ketar from time to time, but that is for his own good. And I have never once lied to him, nor will I ever. You are the light of his life, the person he is destined to love as long as he lives." His voice almost seemed to crack. "What kind of a father would I be if I could not see that? Moreover, as Ketar is currently attempting to explain to that homicidal Daedra, the fact that you use your talents and immortality to serve the life and happiness of those around you is reason enough to approve of your existence.

"Nay…it is proof that you _belong_ by my son's side. No one willing to do any less is deserving of his hand, or of sharing his future. Your body is undead, and that counts against you to a shortsighted bigot like Meridia. However, to one such as myself, who peers across all of time, I see inherent value in your unlife."

Serana bit her lower lip as she listened to his gentle tone.

"Your early years were fraught with pain and no small amount of atrocity, committed both by and against you. In the time since, you stagnated, imprisoned by your own fear and a mindset of inadequacy. But when you met my son…your prison _opened_. Something inside you unlocked that you'd never known, and I don't just mean your feelings for him. Inside yourself, you found a hunger, an irrepressible drive to seek justice for those who suffered as you did. Unburdened by the yoke of your parents, driven on by the acceptance, love, and support of Ketar; you finally found your wings, and have enriched _so_ many lives in the months since you met.

"That, child, is your true value. Born of darkness, shaped by pain, you are a light to all who meet you, and to no one is this truer than my greatest son. Like you, he counts his life as loss, as insignificant in the grand scheme, and as a result is able to give more of himself than anyone in this world…except, perhaps, you. That is what it means to be a child of Akatosh. I cast Miraak and Alduin out because they lost sight of this and allowed their lives to find value in their own eyes far above the duties they were given. Even if they'd scorned their assigned tasks, if they had simply cared for their fellow men and dragons, and not succumbed to the corruption of their power…I would have forgiven them in an _instant_.

"Why then…would I not do the same for one such as you, no matter whose child you are by blood? You are a _hero_ , Serana, plain and simple. Every time you doubt yourself, remember that. And if you cannot, I am certain Ketar will remind you."

Serana was sobbing uncontrollably at this point, her cheeks stained and eyes running with an unending stream of tears. It was quite a while later before she was even close to regaining her composure, but when she'd finally calmed enough for speech, she had a few questions.

"Hey…"

"Yes?"

"You told me that you see all of time, and Ketar once said not only do you see time, but…possibilities; every possibility in existence."

"I do."

Serana's lips pursed. "If you wouldn't mind…would you tell me what the chances were that we'd make it here?"

"I don't follow. Make it where?"

"Together, and…" she smiled, "happy. About to be married."

Akatosh was silent for a long time, his voice coming out with a mix of sadness and relief. "Admittedly…low. Very low. But then…the odds have _always_ been stacked against the two of you, and that's never once gotten in your way."

Serana chuckled lightly. "I guess you've got a point there." Her smile faded slowly. "So what are the chances we get a storybook happy ending?"

"…I… _really_ don't think you want me to answer that."

Another laugh. "Yeah…you're probably right." She grinned. "But it's like you said: screw the odds."

"Aye, agreed. Screw the odds."

…

It was another ten minutes later that Meridia finally caved.

"Fine."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Her arms crossed. "Don't make me repeat myself. I will agree to leave your bride and her mother alone," she held up a finger, "under _one_ condition."

"Name it."

She held out her right hand. "Return Dawnbreaker. Your alliance with these vampires has made you unworthy to carry it, and I must now look for a new champion."

Ketar shrugged. "Fine by me. After I met them, I didn't really like using it anyway." His eyes narrowed. "But I want you to remember one thing: Serana and her mother are _off-limits_. Permanently. To the end of time. If I run across this 'new champion' of yours and he tries to screw with either one of them…" his eyes flashed with fire, "I'll kill him without hesitation, and mount Dawnbreaker on my wall in Windstad Manor as a warning. Understood?"

Meridia's eyes narrowed dangerously as her jaw clenched and arms crossed. "Very well. You have my word."

He took and released a long, relieved breath. "Then we have a deal."

And with that, Ketar took a breath and began the process of opening the rift.

…

She'd gotten so used to the darkness that when a giant sundial of golden light appeared right behind her, Serana started to panic.

"Don't be afraid, child."

She turned toward the disembodied voice.

"That's just Ketar summoning you back to Nirn."

A familiar golden sword floated in through the dark bubble's skin.

"Take that with you. He needs it to conclude his business with Meridia."

Serana nodded and grabbed it by the hilt, squinting at the blinding light coming from the center of its crossguard.

"Remember, Serana: you serve life itself, and so long as that continues, you will never be alone."

She smiled and nodded. "I know. Thank you…for everything."

"It was my pleasure. I know you will already, but please…take care of my son. Support him. Protect him. Love him, with everything you have. He deserves that much. You both do." Akatosh's tone shifted to something almost embarrassed. "And uh…be… _patient_ with him, when the time comes."

She blinked and cocked her head in confusion. "Huh?"

He cleared his throat repeatedly. "You'll…see soon. It's…hmm…you'll see."

Still confused but clearly not going to get any more answers, Serana shrugged and moved toward the rift portal. "Goodbye, Akatosh."

"Goodbye, Serana."

…

The sight of Serana emerging from the rift unharmed, Dawnbreaker in hand, was almost enough to bring Ketar to tears, but he kept his composure long enough to catch her in a cradle carry.

His eyes locked with hers in concern. "You okay? Are you hurt?"

She smiled beautifully and shook her head. "Not at all. Your father is…quite something."

Ketar grinned and slowly lowered her to the ground. "Yeah, he's pretty awesome, huh?"

His eyes shifted to the sword in her grip, which Serana handed over without him even speaking. He turned to Meridia, who was still scowling, but not making any aggressive moves toward Sera. Ketar handed Dawnbreaker over without a word, the sword vanishing in a flash of light as soon as it entered the Prince's grasp.

"The bargain has been made," said Meridia, "and I will honor it. I don't expect we'll be speaking again anytime soon."

Ketar's jaw clenched, head tilting briefly. "That suits me just fine."

She huffed and cast Serana one last derisive glance before vanishing with an explosive whir.

And _then_ Ketar nearly collapsed in relief, his half-numb hands grasping for Serana and finding her firm grip waiting for him.

"You doing all right?" she asked.

Ketar huffed and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I should be asking you that. Didn't really know _what_ would happen when I tossed you through. After all, the last time I threw a living person in the rift was Vyrthur, and…there wasn't enough left of _him_ to come back out."

"Yeah, true, but then again…"

"Vyrthur was Vyrthur."

"Exactly."

They stood there for a while, staring at each other until they broke out laughing, holding each other close in relief.

"Wow. That was pretty scary."

Ketar immediately cast a glare on the new arrival. "So _now_ you decide to show up."

Sanguine laughed nervously and held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, don't blame me for that. I could sense the presence of one of my siblings, but I didn't want to interfere."

Kay put his hands on his hips. "Oh _really_? I hadn't noticed."

"You gotta understand, some of us have feuds that are thousands of years old. Running into each other on this plane of existence can get a bit…dicey if we meet the wrong one. A little too dicey to risk in this mortal realm."

He groaned and rolled his eyes, waving dismissively. "Whatever. It's taken care of."

Sam grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. "Never doubted you for a second."

"Shut _up_ , Sam."

"You got it, boss."

…

"This is a very bad idea."

"Loosen up, lad. That's the whole point of a bachelor party."

"Then maybe we should've voted _against_ it."

"Hey, this vote was all you. You and that girl of yours."

Ketar grumbled and groaned helplessly, laying his head in his hands.

Sam and Lydia had eventually decided on Jorrvaskr as the location for the bachelor party, which made perfect sense given the volume of sweaty, manly men in the Companions. The only problem was…well…

 _I have no idea what to do here._

Ketar had never been a big drinker, wasn't one to brawl on a whim, and _despised_ promiscuity of all sorts. Which…basically ruled out the majority of activities engaged in during these things. Thankfully, he had Brynjolf sitting next to him, keeping him sane (for the moment), but if more familiar faces didn't show up soon, he was going to plant the next mug of ale set before him directly on Sam's head and he wasn't taking it off until the wedding. Speaking of whom…

"Yes! I win again!"

Ketar groaned.

Sanguine had taken to playing dice with Farkas, Aela, and Torvar—and it wasn't going their way. Ah, and that was one more thing he didn't like to engage in: gambling. The combination of his personal restrictions had earned him the perpetual nickname "stiff" from Sam…like he cared. A serial debaucher who made a point of embroiling mortals in all types of foolishness was hardly someone whose opinion he cared about. Still…bachelor parties (and parties in general) were supposed to be fun, weren't they?

"Hey there, Ketty," Sanguine drawled in Ketar's ear, slumping into the seat next to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "How ya doin'?"

"Lousy," Ketar admitted with a small sip of his mead.

"Well, it's early yet. No reason to be alarmed or anything."

He sighed. "Look, I'm not sure this is the best idea, okay? This just isn't my kind of thing."

In a surprising show of sensitivity, Sanguine frowned and gave him a long look. "So what is?"

Ketar blinked several times. "Quiet conversation with friends, a mild game or two of cards—where the only stakes are bragging rights—exchanging of stories…" He smiled. "I actually really like that last one."

At this, Sam's eyes went wide in excitement as a manic grin was plastered to his features. "Oh…now _this_ I can work with."

Before Ketar could be relieved or worried, the door of Jorrvaskr opened and a familiar blond man strode into the mead hall, immediately moving for their table. The Dragonborn set his mug down and shot to his feet, making his way toward the new arrival with a grin.

"Agmaer!" he called out.

The blond man smiled and embraced him tightly. "Ketar. Good to see you."

"Likewise," he answered, turning to his table. He cleared his throat, waving toward the table's occupants. "I'd like you to meet Sam and Nazir."

"A pleasure," Nazir greeted.

"'Sup," Sam said with a nod to Agmaer.

"You already know Brynjolf and Vilkas," Ketar added with a wave at them.

Agmaer chuckled and nodded as he moved toward the table, sitting on Ketar's immediate left.

Brynjolf was the one who noticed something off first. "Agmaer—what happened to your eye?"

Ketar blinked and turned toward the young man, his jaw dropping when he saw the scar. "Whoa—with the firelight, I didn't even _notice_. What happened?"

Agmaer shrugged and sipped his mead. "Hagraven. I made the mistake of taking it on in close quarters." He laughed without mirth, nodding to Ketar. "Turns out it was a transformed ex-vampire—and one of _Vingalmo's_ to boot."

Brynjolf's eyebrows shot skyward. "Are you kidding me?"

Agmaer frowned and shook his head. "'Fraid not. But we took her out in the end, and that's what counts."

"We?" asked Vilkas.

He blinked and smiled. "Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that." He grinned. "Brelyna and I are together."

Ketar stared at him for a second before breaking out into laughter and slapping his shoulder. "Congratulations, to both of you."

Vilkas grinned. "Always knew you had it in you."

"Good on you, lad," added Brynjolf.

"Thanks," he said shyly.

"Ah," Sanguine sighed wistfully, "all this romance in the air is making me so… _nauseous_."

Agmaer shot him a look, glancing at Ketar. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Sam," Ketar replied in a deadpan tone. "Just ignore him."

"Hey!" the Daedra protested.

Ketar picked up his mug and held it up. "A toast, to the health and happiness of each one of us."

Brynjolf raised his tankard. "Aye, I'll drink to that."

"As will I," intoned Sanguine.

Ketar wondered at his unusual, almost sinister tone as he clinked his mug with the others' and drained the tankard. He understood why when he started feeling dizzy a minute or two later, his vision already starting to blur. His eyes slowly dragged themselves over to Sam's grinning features. The Daedra just nodded in confirmation.

"I frigging hate you," Ketar slurred.

Sam gently patted his head. "There, there…you'll thank me for this later."

…

In a kind of reflection of what the men were doing, the ladies had designated the Bannered Mare as their haunt of choice, and were currently knocking back tankards of their own. They were, to be sure, one of the strangest groups to ever grace a single table. Of the five women sitting together, three were vampires, one was an Elf, and the last was, well… _Lydia_. Who, at present, was outpacing them in sheer alcohol volume by a mile.

"That is… _very_ fast," said Serana with concern, "even for you."

The berserker gave her a deadpan glare. "What did I say about judging my drinking habits?"

Her lips pursed tightly. "Even so, this is pretty unusual."

"Oh lighten up, Serana," squealed Babette from her seat. "Tonight is where we ladies have to let go of everything we usually have to mind due to our men's… _sensibilities_."

The elder vampire arched an eyebrow at her. "Oh really?" She smirked and crossed her arms. "Well considering _one_ of us isn't even old enough to drink…"

Babette growled and flashed her fangs.

Serana's eyes widened slightly in predatory aggression as her own teeth bared.

The vampire "child" gulped and sank back into her seat.

"Come now, daughter," Valerica sighed, "don't be mean to the children."

"I'm older than half the people at this table!" Babette protested.

"Not in the head, I'll tell you that," Lydia slurred.

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk."

Brelyna was just quietly chuckling into her tankard, shaking her head slowly. Babette sniffed at her sleeve, her face breaking out into a grin.

"Ooh…someone's got a man in her life, and a familiar one, by his scent."

Serana shot the girl a glare. "Don't be such a snoop, you brat." She glanced at Brelyna curiously, then stuck her head forward a bit and sniffed several times herself. Her eyes widened, turning to her mother. "Oh, come on!"

Valerica grinned. "Told you."

Brelyna frowned at them. "Told her what?"

Serana groaned and leaned back in her seat. "Nothing..."

She stared at the ceiling, frowning and letting her thoughts wander as the table's conversation faded to a dull hum in the back of her head. Alcohol only had so much effect on the body of a vampire with how fast their cells regenerated, so even with the quantities she'd consumed so far, there wasn't much effect other than a faint heat humming in her blood. However, one thing about the night's drinks was bothering her. Specifically…

" _Why are you drinking so much_?" Serana asked Lydia, almost at the top of her lungs.

The sudden increase in her speech's volume snapped Lydia out of a long draught, the woman hiccupping and looking down and away.

Serana sighed and reached across the table to grip Lydia's empty hand. "What's wrong?"

Lydia remained silent.

Babette nudged the recalcitrant woman with her elbow. "Come on, 'fess up. We girls gotta stick together."

She glanced at each of them, the other women giving her nothing but smiles (or reassuring smirks, in Valerica's case). Lydia finally sighed in surrender. "It's Brynjolf."

Serana's eyes widened, immediately sharpened. "Talk to me."

Lydia stared at the table, her jaw working. "We…had a wager. If I beat him in a drinking contest, he'd pay me back everything he ever won from me gambling. If he won, I'd have to…" she huffed and waved dismissively, "ugh, it doesn't matter."

"Well how do you know unless you tell us?" Brelyna asked.

Lydia gave her a helpless look, then bowed her head. "I had to be his housecarl for a week. Wait on him hand and foot, serve as his bodyguard. That sort of thing."

They all stared at her for almost a full minute before Babette broke out cackling. Serana planted her fist in the top of the girl's skull without even looking, her face a study in concern as her eyes never left Lydia.

"And why is this an issue?" Sera asked.

Lydia's lips pursed tightly. "Because I won…and I don't know how to feel about it, but I don't know whether that's because Sanguine rigged the game or…the wager itself." She laid her head in her hands. "A part of me is nursing my wounded pride, because I know I would've lost if he hadn't interfered. But…another part of me is…"

"Is what?" demanded Babette. "Don't leave it there!"

She groaned hard. "It's too embarrassing."

Brelyna's eyebrows shot upward. "Too embarrassing for _you_? This _has_ to be good."

Serana cast the Elf girl a small reprimanding glance, quickly returning her attention to Lydia. "Lydia, come on. Just say it."

Lydia whined and rubbed her face, crying out, "I think a part of me _wanted_ to lose, and I don't know why!" She actually started tearing up, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I keep running back and forth in my head, trying to figure out what the hell I was thinking to feel like that. But I can't…I can't figure it out." She sniffled. "I started that wager by demanding my money, because I was so sure I could win, but once I heard his end…I don't know, I just…started feeling differently."

"Differently how?"

"I don't know!"

Serana leaned forward and gripped her hands tightly. "I think you do."

Lydia stared at her with bloodshot eyes.

She smiled and tilted her head. "Have you ever considered why Brynjolf kept taking your money?"

The drunk woman blinked several times. "Huh?" She frowned and huffed. "Of course. Because he's a cheating little thief who enjoys watching me suffer."

Valerica arched an eyebrow. "Watching you _squirm_ , maybe, but not suffer."

"Oh come on!"

" _You_ come on," the matron countered. "Were you even _watching_ when you were kidnapped? Did you see how concerned he was, how desperate he was to get you back?"

"Well…yeah, but—"

"But _nothing_." Valerica's tone was scolding and motherly. "If he enjoyed watching you suffer in _any_ regard, he'd have hesitated, but he didn't, not for an _instant_. So why do you keep assuming that is his motivation?"

Serana frowned. "What my mother's trying to say is, have you considered another explanation? Something that actually makes _sense_ based on everything you've seen and experienced from him?"

Lydia stared at her blankly.

"Come on, Lydia. Think about it."

She frowned and looked away.

"You wanted your money out of that wager. He wanted to spend time with you, just you. What if…what if he took your money because he wanted you to come with him?"

Lydia's eyes widened. "Wha?"

Serana grasped for the right words. "What I mean is…what if he took your money because he wanted to _share_ it with you?"

"…"

Babette groaned and rolled her eyes. "What wonder girl here is trying to say is: he's in love with you, and like a typical man, has no idea how to show it."

Sera arched an eyebrow at her. "Ketar knew _exactly_ how to show it."

Babette gave her a toothy grin. "I said a 'typical' man, didn't I?"

Serana just grunted before returning her eyes to Lydia, who was even paler than she'd been a few seconds ago. "Lydia?"

The woman gulped slowly. "Yeah…"

"You oka—"

"No, I mean…yeah. I thought about it."

"…and?"

Lydia met her eyes, her breathing ragged and heart rate irregular. "It _terrifies_ me."

Serana's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

She gulped and fixed her eyes on the table, her face threatening to crumple. "I can't…" her head shook, "I can't. You'll think I'm such a hypocrite."

Sera felt her heart ache and held Lydia's hands even tighter. "Hey, look at me. Look at me."

Slowly, with a sniffle, Lydia obeyed.

She smiled warmly. "I will never think any less of you for telling me the truth. Okay?"

Lydia nodded slowly, unable to maintain eye contact. "I…I'm afraid."

"Of thinking Brynjolf is—"

"Not just that. Everything." She gulped again. "Ketar knows this. After we took Volkihar, I told him everything." She tightened her grip around Serana's hands. "Everything scares me, everything I can't control. Fire, battle, wild beasts, monsters…this whole world is _terrifying_."

Brelyna blinked and stared at her, mouth wide open. "But…that's _impossible_. You're so amazing in battle, and you never flinch away from a fight."

Lydia smiled and sniffled. "Thank you. I try, really, really hard. And it helps that whenever I get scared, I have the ability to go into a completely different headspace. I basically psych myself out until the fear vanishes, and all I have left is bloodlust." She frowned. "But…I made the mistake of letting that follow me off the battlefield. It's been happening for a while now, almost to the point where I can't remember a time where it didn't, where I didn't let that fear overwhelm me to the point of insanity." She ran her thumbs over the backs of Serana's hands. "That's why…I've had so many lovers over the years.

"Relationships, real emotional connection…it terrifies me, because I've seen the pain others go through when that connection is severed, and I can't stand the thought of going through that myself." Lydia's green eyes slid shut, liquid spilling from them as her voice broke. "I'm such a coward."

Serana's eyes widened in alarm when she saw Lydia's shoulders begin to shake and heave. She was on her feet the instant the other woman began sobbing violently, quickly rounding the table and throwing her arms around her.

"H-He's been there, f-from the beginning. He's always there for me, _always_ , and I just ignore him. I drown myself in all these _useless_ men, and he's still there, just waiting."

Serana felt a nervous shiver run through the men in the room, realizing with a start that Lydia was probably talking about a few who were present.

"I-I can't even tell him what he means to me, b-because I'm so ashamed of what I am…" Lydia buried her face in Serana's shoulder. "How can anyone possibly love a worthless coward like me?"

Serana's jaw clenched hard, on the verge of breaking her own composure as her grip around Lydia's shoulders tightened. "Listen to me," she said as firmly as she could. "You are _not_ worthless. You are not a coward." She stroked one shaking hand through Lydia's hair. "And you _are_ loved, whether you think you're worthy or not."

Lydia managed a few words through the sobs. "B-But I don't deserve—"

" _Shut up_ ," Sera ordered, crying herself. "That is _not_ your decision to make. You don't get to decide who loves you and doesn't. We love you, Lydia. _I_ love you. That's all there is to it, so just shut up and accept it."

Serana sniffed and looked over to see Brelyna lay a hand on the despondent woman's shoulder, Valerica beaming with pride at her daughter. Even Babette seemed impressed, if the dumbstruck look on her face was any indication. Point of fact, she smiled and gave Serana a small bow of deference and respect, the pureblood nodding back just slightly as she gave Lydia the lifeline she needed to drag herself back to sanity.

…

On the third round of cards, Sanguine had brought up Ketar's last idea: stories. In this particular case, however, they were stories of the table occupants' various conquests, as "preparation" for Ketar's first intimacy with Serana—first intimacy with _anyone_ , actually (the memory he was forced to relive of Miraak and Liz did _not_ count). The moment the topic had been broached, Ketar sent for twice as many drinks and downed them all, getting himself a sideways look from Brynjolf.

"What?" he'd slurred at the master thief.

"Don't you think it's a bit too much? Especially since you-know-who spiked your drink already?"

Ketar had stared at him with wide eyes. "If we're goin' down this line of thinging…I need to be a _lot_ more drunk than this."

Which is how they ended up playing drunken card games while Sam Guevenne regaled the group with another tomato blush-inducing tale of carnal desire and satisfaction. The only saving grace to being this drunk (which Ketar usually counted as a curse) was that he probably wouldn't remember _any_ of this the next morning. Either that or he'd be too busy nursing a hangover to think about it. Agmaer, the only other virgin at the table, was in the same state as Ketar, but he was too busy waving his hand in front of his face to care too much about the story.

"Whatcha doin'?" Ketar slurred.

Agmaer stared at his hand intently, lips stretching into a triumphant smile after a while. "I think my left eye can see again!"

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow at him. "Pretty sure your right eye's just seeing double, lad."

Sanguine bared his teeth in his trademark grin as he grabbed all their empty mugs. "What do you say we go for triple?"

"I'll go with you," said Vilkas as he stumbled to his feet.

Ketar glanced Brynjolf's way, frowning a bit, then took Agmaer's arm and nudged him toward the standing men. "You go too."

"But I—"

"Go," he slurred as firmly as he could. When Agmaer was finally out of earshot, he turned to Brynjolf and leaned forward onto his elbows. "Hey, Bryn. You seem kinda mopey tonight."

The thief arched an amused eyebrow at him and smirked. "Look who's talking."

Ketar leaned his cheek on his palm. "Yeah, but…you're mopeyer than I am."

Brynjolf grunted and shrugged before sipping his mead.

Ketar's lips pursed. "Is it Lydia?"

The older man froze for a second before sighing and chuckling softly. "Is it that obvious?"

Ketar shrugged. "Not to most people, but we are best friends, after all." His eyes narrowed. "You know that, right?"

Brynjolf eyed him amusedly. "I think you've had more than a wee bit too much to drink, lad."

He frowned, voice sharpening a bit. "I'm serious, Bryn. I mean it."

"You say that now…"

"And not when I'm stone-cold sober, I know. I have a terrible habit of being emotionally…whatsit…hmm…"

"Closed?"

"Not a great emotional communicator. Less…put it that way."

Brynjolf snorted a laugh. "I hadn't noticed."

"Don't tease me when I'm drunk. I can still kick your ass."

He chuckled. "I'll take your word for it."

Ketar sighed. "Seriously, though. What's with you and Lydia? She's been so sullen these past few days."

A shrug. "Beats me. She won our wager, after all. I'll be giving her the winnings the morning after the wedding, with a bit of interest." He smirked. "I may be a thief, but I'm an honorable thief."

"That makes two of us."

"Aye, that it does."

"…but is that all you really want? Just a transaction?"

A sigh. "I think you know it isn't, but…she's so closed off."

"Seems pretty open to me, when it comes to most things."

"On the surface, maybe, but…when it comes to her feelings, what she keeps inside…all that is locked away." He smiled ruefully. "The one safe I can never crack."

Ketar frowned and patted Brynjolf's hand. "You ever tried telling her up front how you feel? Like, flat-out, like I did?"

Bryn stared at him for a while before sighing wistfully. "You know, I haven't. But then I always thought women were more perceptive than us when it comes to stuff like that."

"Hm…most, maybe, but…Lydia's an…unusual case."

He chuckled. "Aye, that she is." His lips pursed. "But then…I don't think I'd love her if she weren't."

Ketar blinked and stared at him. "Well I'll be…"

"What?"

The Dragonborn grinned and held up his half-filled tankard. "Say it to her just like that, and I think you might have a winner." He drained the mug in one go.

Brynjolf blinked a few times, laughing heartily. "Everything seems like a good idea when you're in that state."

"Eh…I'll grant you that. But I still think the direct method is probably your best course of action when it comes to her."

He nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

Ketar smiled, his smile quickly fading when an irritatingly familiar voice reached his ears.

"He's right, man; if you want to bang Lydia, all you gotta do is ask."

And just like that, the heat of the alcohol in Ketar's system was boiled away by the rage stirring in his blood. With a shaky start, he managed to shove himself upright, his dark blue eyes storming as he fixed Torvar with a fierce glare and Brynjolf did the same.

The drunkard made a face at him. "Oooooh, big bag Dragonborn all up in arms about his _lady friend_." He took a swig from his own mug. "Tell me, Ketty—how many times have you sampled those _sweet assets_ , huh?"

Ketar's right hand tightened into a fist.

"I mean, you've got that crazy vampire chick _and_ the crazy Nord chick livin' under your roof…I'm _jealous_." He smiled nastily. "As I always am of pretentious little shits like you." He snarled. "You sit there at that table, pretendin' to be all innocent and untouched, but I know better. You're a wolf." He made obscene howling noises. "You pretend you're just another sweet, innocent sheep, but under all that, you're just another wolf. All that virgin talk is just the shit you peddle to keep up your image of 'purity,' when the truth is you wanna screw like the rest of us."

Ketar's other hand joined the first as he slowly stumbled toward Torvar's table.

"So come on, one wolf to another—you can admit it. I won't judge ya…" he grinned madly, " _much_."

The crack that sounded through the room caught _everyone's_ attention as Ketar laid the drunkard out with a single rage-driven punch.

"Is that…really all they are to you?" growled the enraged Dragonborn. "Is that all you see women as? Just objects to be fantasized about and conquered?" His teeth bared as he stumbled over to Torvar and gripped his collar. "I am not some…two-timing scum like you." He slowly hauled the man to his feet, snarling into his face. "I treat the women in my life—friends or otherwise—with _respect_."

"Oh yeah?"

Ketar was sent gasping and keeling over as he hurled the contents of his stomach onto the floor, throat and gut burning after Torvar's uppercut.

"Well there's what I think of your friggin' respect."

Torvar planted a kick on Ketar's side, sending him rolling away. Ketar growled and hauled himself upright, wiping the mess off his lips and assuming a shaky fighting stance.

Torvar just started laughing. "I'm amazed you're even _standing_ , with how much you're swayin'." He grinned. "You're not used to fightin' like this, are ya? Well _I_ am."

The Companion lunged forward and planted another punch in Ketar's gut, followed by one to the temple and a hook to the jaw that worked his head around. As Ketar stumbled away, he saw Brynjolf rising from his seat and held him back with a gesture.

"You think that's something to be _proud_ of?" Ketar growled.

"Huh?"

The Dragonborn made a false step to his left, whipping his body in a circle and just managing to keep his balance long enough to plant a 360 shin-kick in Torvar's lower ribs.

"So you can fight drunk," Ketar snarled, "am I supposed to be _impressed_?" He dashed forward and planted two follow-up strikes on Torvar's ugly features. "All that tells me is that you're nothing but a useless drunk who can't even control his own impulses!"

Torvar yelled and came back up with a devastating headbutt that split Ketar's left eyebrow. "You're a hypocritical prick, Dov! You've thought about boning that fiancé of yours _way_ before you proposed, and don't even _think_ of denying it!"

"So _what_?!" Ketar roared, countering with an elbow to the jaw. "I might've thought about it, but did I act on it? _No_. Because unlike you, I can _control_ myself. I'm not a victim to my baser instincts." He blocked Torvar's counter and laid into him with hard, rapid, if imprecise, strikes. "I don't run my mouth off and curse those who make better decisions than I do. I don't have to _drown_ myself in drink because I'm so cowardly and inadequate that I need to feel _nothing_ to overcome my fear!"

Ketar grunted and coughed hard as Torvar planted a knee in his solar plexus, the wind knocked out of him. The Companion came down with a double-fisted smash to his back, forcing him to his knees.

"You know nothing!" Torvar screamed as he kneed Ketar in the face.

The Dragonborn snarled and withdrew by the step, dodging Torvar's increasingly inaccurate blows. "I know you're a fool, a drunken fool, who cares for no one but himself. I know you haven't an ounce of respect for the women you proposition. I know you don't deserve to be _seen_ with the Companions, much less be _one_ of them!"

They rushed each other, both planting a hard cross in each other's faces. Ketar recovered first, and ducked Torvar's wild haymaker, countering with a rising blow that hit Torvar below the belt—hard. The drunk wheezed out his breath as he tried hard not to keel over in pain.

"If I thought I could get away with it," Ketar snarled, "I'd rip your balls off _right now_ to keep you from _ever_ looking at another woman the way you looked at my Sera… _or_ Lydia." He bared his teeth and tackled him to the ground. "You're no wolf...you're a rabid _dog_...and you don't deserve _any_ of them!"

And with that, he unleashed the beast inside.

One hard, anger-fueled blow after the next rained down on Torvar's body, everywhere Ketar could reach, everywhere he could see. He didn't even see Torvar anymore, just a blank, nondescript punching bag on which he could freely vent the full force of his wrath. It was the strong arms of his only sober friend that eventually dragged him off the half-dead drunk, Torvar's entire body looking like it had just been trampled by a team of horses. Several of the nearby Companions rushed to the injured man's side, gingerly starting to carry him while Ketar shook with a mixture of rage and helpless grief.

"This is all my fault," he cried.

Brynjolf sighed at his side. "To be fair, the bastard was asking for it."

"Not that. I couldn't care less about that son of a bitch." He looked up at Bryn with running, bloodshot eyes. "It's Lydia. All this time…all this destructive behavior, and I just let it go. I let her…do _everything_ , time after frigging time, and I knew…" He sobbed, his hands clenched into fists again. He wanted to hit something, anything, just to make the pain go away. "I knew what it was doing to her. I knew what they…my own _sister_ , and I couldn't even…"

Ketar screamed and rammed the bottom of his fist into a nearby barrel, shattering it and sending spilled mead everywhere. He felt not one but two forms crouch next to him after a few seconds, one gently touching his bruised face and sighing hard.

"We better get him home," said Sam, in possibly the gentlest tone he'd ever heard him use.

"Aye, I'll see to it," replied Brynjolf. "You take care of Agmaer."

"Will do."

Ketar was silent until they reached the market square of Whiterun, his dizzy, bruised body swaying heavily as he leaned on Brynjolf for support. "I'm sorry."

Brynjolf sighed. "For what?"

"For ruining the night."

"…lad, this was _your_ night, not ours. I'm sorry that bastard had to go and open his big mouth."

"It wasn't just him. I'd been…storing that up for a while, I think. Just…the conversation with you, and then…Torvar…set me off."

Bryn huffed a small laugh. "Not a great emotional communicator, huh?'

Ketar smiled ruefully. "Yeah." His smile faded. "Do you think Lydia can forgive me?"

Brynjolf frowned. "Now you listen here, lad. Lydia's decisions are not on you."

"But—"

"But nothing. She's an adult, lad, and perfectly capable of deciding her own path in life. That she chose that destructive path isn't on you, not at all."

"But it is on me for just letting her walk it."

A sigh. "Maybe so, but I still don't think she'd ever blame you for it." He smirked. "After all…she's your sister, right?"

"Yeah…I said that, didn't I?"

"Aye, you did."

Ketar opened his eyes, realizing that Brynjolf had already carried him up his own stairs and was ushering him into the master bedroom. Apparently, Serana and the ladies hadn't returned yet. Brynjolf gently laid him down on the mattress after folding the covers back. He laid them back over Ketar's drowsy form as soon he'd gotten his boots off.

"I didn't get vomit on me, did I?"

Brynjolf chuckled. "Nope. Even drunk, you have pretty good aim."

"Good. It's a pain to clean out." His gaze and voice sharpened. "Hey Bryn."

"Aye?"

"You really are my best friend. Well…my best _male_ friend, anyway." He smirked. "Pretty sure Serana takes the cake on best _best_ friend."

Brynjolf laughed. "She better, or you're gonna have one lousy marriage."

Ketar smiled wistfully. "So…in case you didn't know…you're gonna be my best man tomorrow night…'kay?"

The Nord stared at him for a few moments before smiling and nodding. "Okay. You get some rest, all right? Drink plenty of water."

Ketar nodded slowly, snuggling into his pillow. "Thanks, Bryn. I owe you one…again."

Brynjolf smiled sadly and looked down at him. "You saved me, lad…in more ways than one."

"…what do you mean?"

He waved dismissively. "Doesn't matter now. You just focus on getting better. You don't wanna get married with a killer hangover, after all. Gonna make the night after pretty uncomfortable."

Ketar groaned. "Pretty sure I'll be uncomfortable either way."

"But it'll be the _good_ kind. Trust me."

He smiled. "Yeah…I do."

Brynjolf patted his shoulder. "Good night."

"Night," he slurred in reply, dozing off almost immediately.

He only stirred for a few brief moments when he felt a pair of familiar, silky lips on his and opened his eyes to see the sunset staring back at him.

"So beautiful," were his last exhaled words before he passed out until the next morning.

* * *

AN: Ah, this chapter…so many freaking feels in this chapter that I cried like a little baby while writing half of it. Which is okay, because I'm an excellent touch typist and don't actually need to see to write. Soooo…yeah, anyway.

I'm really on a roll with these because I want to get to the end of this arc ASAP. I have something very special planned for the wedding night, a lot of special somethings, actually, so hopefully I'll be able to do what I have in my head justice.

Hope you enjoyed this fun little chapter and are looking forward to the final culmination of this story arc. It's going to be…interesting, in more ways than one. I'll just leave it at that.

As usual, let me know what you thought. Imma go pass out like Ketar now.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

TES IV: Oblivion – Peace of Akatosh: "That's not what my father thinks"/"Can I ask you something?"/"Screw the odds"

Arrow (Season 3) – Someone You Love: "It's Brynjolf"/Lydia's insecurity/"We love you"


	16. A Night to Remember

The morning of the wedding, Ketar had awoken to an empty bed and a splitting headache the likes of which he'd never experienced. A slew of curses spewed from his throat in three different languages, every single one of them laid on the head of the Daedric Lord responsible for his current predicament. Who poked his head in mere moments after Ketar regained consciousness.

"I heard my name."

Ketar glared at him with his one uncovered eye, his other sitting under his palm as he tried to keep the blazing sun from making his headache worse. "Get out," he groaned.

"Come on! You got a big day ahead of you!"

A whole new torrent of swearing came from Ketar's throat as Sanguine yanked the covers off him, exposing his aching, hungover body to the cold afternoon air.

"It's _my_ day," Kay grumbled into his pillow.

It was when Sam began bodily dragging him off the bed that he kicked off the meddlesome Daedra and forced himself upright. A fierce scowl was directed at the laid-back Sanguine, who was inspecting his nails as if he'd sat on the floor by choice and not been thrown on his ass.

Ketar blinked and frowned at the otherwise empty bedroom. "Where's Serana?"

"Had to take care of some last-minute tailoring," he replied, finally standing up, "left me to give you your wake-up call. Or, rather, left _Lydia_ to do it, not knowing she has an even worse hangover than you."

Ketar groaned and rubbed his eyes as he stumbled toward his wardrobe. "Why am I not surprised?" He absently began picking out his clothes, something casual enough for breakfast, but easy to change out of when he needed to get ready for the ceremony. "Is she awake yet?"

Sanguine chuckled. "Oh yeah. Though she was about as receptive as you were."

"I am never taking my eyes off my mug again when you're around."

"That's…probably a good rule of thumb."

Ketar blinked as he stepped behind a dressing screen and slipped his morning clothes on. "So why'd you bail on the party last night?"

"…huh?"

"You ditched the booze and the gambling after my little scuffle with Torvar."

"You mean you remember all that? Man, that dragon blood really works wonders for your regen."

"You didn't answer my question."

"…you stopped having fun."

"Huh?"

"Come on, kid. I might be considered a little out of my skull, but I'm the Prince of _debauchery_ , not alcohol poisoning. Besides, that whole party was for your benefit, and it ended up turning into a brawlfest—and not the good, hearty, laughter-ridden kind."

Ketar smirked at that. "So…you were worried about me."

Sanguine snorted derisively. "Don't get it messed up, man. I just don't do well with angsty drunks; they give me heartburn."

"Uh huh…I'm sure that's all it was."

"Oi, I don't have to answer to you—Daedra, remember?"

"Then why didn't you ditch this conversation already?"

"…"

He chuckled. "That's what I thought."

…

"Are you sure this is going to fit?"

"Of course it will. It might just be a little…snug in places." Babette nudged Serana's side with her elbow. "Which I'm sure will work wonders for getting his attention, eh?"

Sera arched an eyebrow at the girl and frowned. "I have that no matter what I'm wearing."

"Oh of course, of course. I'm just imagining how hard he'll have to try to keep his mouth closed when he sees you in this."

A second later, so was Serana, and she was trying very hard not to smile.

"It does look lovely on you, dearest."

She turned to her mother and finally allowed herself to smile. "You think so?"

Valerica and Brelyna nodded slowly in admiration, the latter speaking up. "Some people might see steel as a cheap material for an engagement ring, but Ketar was _inspired_ when he had yours made of black steel. It is _definitely_ your color."

With a small blush, Sera turned back to the wall-length mirror set up in Valerica's room in the Bannered Mare and took a long look at herself. Her lean, lithe form was clad from head to toe in lacy black fabric, a flowing bridal train capping the lower end of the skirt, which was cascading but not overly poofy. Point of fact, most of it was just short enough not to drag on the ground, showing a bit of her ankles and shoes, which were sharply heeled stiletto boots Valerica had dug out of storage in Castle Volkihar. The boot portion of the shoes was actually just a series of glossed leather cords wrapped in an interlocking fishnet pattern, the gaps showing off the flawless pale skin of her legs until it was obscured by the dress's skirt.

She was clad from the waist up in a richly patterned black corset with red stitching around the fringes, the torso portion only extending as far as her shoulders, with nothing fastening it above her bust. Her hands were contained in lace gloves that extended to her lower bicep and were fastened to the shoulder pieces by garter straps. Only the ring finger of her left hand was left exposed by the gloves. Around the back of the corset was fastened a black hood and veil of the same lace material and patterning as her skirt and gloves, though they were down at the moment, revealing her mostly-bare face. The only exceptions to this were a faint amount of blush staining her cheeks (very faint; her pale skin made any extra color stand out quite a bit), a thin layer of charcoal mascara, and a smoky blue eyeliner that drew attention to the orange glow of her eyes.

"Truly stunning."

The statement drew the immediate attention of all but one of the room's current occupants, as it had come from a man currently standing in the doorway with one hand tucked behind his back.

Serana immediately broke out into a smile and moved toward him. "Bard! You made it!"

Bard smiled and bowed formally. "After everything you confided in me, I'd have been very disappointed if I hadn't been able to witness this." He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Which is only part of why I'm here right now." He cast a glance at Valerica, who returned an approving nod. "Your mother informed me that you've been having some…trouble figuring out who would walk you down the aisle."

She blinked and shrugged, laughing sheepishly. "Yeah, well…hard to do when most of your family is gone and the one possible guy is the best man."

Bard broadened his shoulders and placed one hand over his heart. "If it would not seem too presumptuous…it would be my utmost honor to do so."

Serana stared at him, glancing at her smirking mother, then back to him. She smiled widely. "Considering you're one of the main reasons this is happening in the first place, I don't see how I can say no."

He chuckled. "You knew what you had to do, Serana. You just needed a little push."

"Still, my answer is an unquestioning yes."

Another bow. "Then I will leave you to your preparations and await your arrival in Dragonsreach." He turned for the door, stopping short and turning his head toward her one more time. "One more thing—Lord Zhanikan came as well."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Really? He found time in his schedule?"

A strange look entered Bard's dark eyes for just an instant, his smile tinged with a note of something akin to sadness before it vanished. "Trust me…my lord and king would not have missed this for the world."

…

"I _cannot_ get married in this state."

"I agree," replied Sanguine to the despondent Dragonborn, snapping his fingers once.

Ketar immediately felt the effects of his hangover vanish, his head clearing completely a second later as he blinked rapidly and looked up at the Daedra. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What did you do?"

He smirked. "I gave the ass-wipe from last night the worst hangover he's had in eight years."

Ketar's eyebrows shot skyward. "Torvar? You mean you—" without his permission, he fell into a fit of vindictive laughter, "—I guess your meddling does come in handy sometimes."

" _Sometimes_?" he asked indignantly.

Lydia groaned and groped for a cup of lemon tea she'd just poured, Ketar gently handing it to her. "Thanks," she muttered before taking a long sip.

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like the ass-end of a shipwreck." Her bloodshot green eyes drifted to Ketar's face, a profound sadness and regret in their depths.

He couldn't take the sight of it, and reached out to take her hands.

She held his back tightly, her voice shaking a bit. "I don't…want to be that girl anymore."

He blinked. "What girl?"

Lydia sniffled and looked away. "You know what I mean."

"…"

"I'm always getting myself into these stupid, screwy situations, and you always have to bail me out."

"Considering how many times you've saved me over the years, I'd say we can call it even."

She glared at him. "Stop trying to be funny."

His lips pursed tightly. "I'm not. You never asked me to bail you out of those taverns, to drag your hungover corpse back here so you could recover in peace. You never _had_ to. As much of a hassle as it was, as much as it hurt to see you in that state, I never once hesitated to go out and get you back." He cupped the back of her head, his forehead pressed against hers. "Because that's what family does, right? It's just what family does."

Lydia gulped hard and nodded, leaning into his touch and letting him soothingly stroke her scalp. A pronounced sigh came from the side, the pair turning to see Sam staring at them with a mildly peeved expression.

"Much as I hate to break up the love fest, you two are on in less than two hours, and I am not carrying you to Dragonsreach."

Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, but Ketar just smirked.

"He's right," he admitted. "Let's get something solid in you, and then we should really get moving."

"Right," she said with a small nod, attending to that precise task at a sedated pace.

"…you do know you're the maid of honor, right?"

And like that, Lydia's pace increased substantially.

…

Serana arrived at Dragonsreach first, in her normal armored attire. Her mother had carried the box with her dress in it while Brelyna kept Sera occupied with conversation to keep her nerves under control. And she _was_ nervous. Not because she was having second thoughts about marrying Kay, or she doubted he'd approve of her dress. It was just…unfamiliar territory, _very_ unfamiliar territory, and much the same way as Ketar's proposal (the last one, not the botched attempt), she just wanted everything to go off perfectly.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she slowly donned her bridal ensemble, the reality of it all setting in more and more by the second. A slow gulp passed through her throat when everything was finally in place once more, her mother coming up behind her in a similarly-styled dress. Valerica's attire was a bit more…fitted than Serana's, her skirt much slimmer, with a sizeable slit down one side, and it was a slightly glossy charcoal blue instead of black. Serana couldn't even begin to guess what kind of material it was made of—some sort of velvet, surely. But there was a distinctly…unusual shine to it.

Serana's eyes narrowed as she cocked her head and turned to face her mother. "Is that thing…"

"Magical?" her mother finished with a smirk. "Not exactly. It's a highly stretchable fabric I created using alchemy."

Sera stared at her. "You've been shut up in your tower performing endless experiments…and _this_ is what you came up with?"

Valerica snorted in affront and crossed her arms. "Oh please. This is just one small part of the work I've been doing, and the product of the last week alone." She nodded to Serana. "That dress too."

The girl frowned and gave her a suspicious look. "What did you do?"

The matron grinned toothily. "You'll see later."

Nervous but accepting, Serana turned back to the mirror and took a long look at the empty space on her left hand where, in a few scant minutes, Ketar would slip a ring—probably black like the engagement ring sitting in her drawer at home. She wouldn't mind if he'd crafted it out of wood, to be honest. Even with the butterflies doing an uncomfortable happy dance in her belly, there was this fire inside her that had been growing over the course of their admittedly brief engagement. Suddenly, Serana understood exactly what Ketar had meant the morning of his first proposal, when he'd said he wanted to belong to her.

She felt exactly the same way.

And it was this thought that finally calmed her nerves some and prompted her to smile. A familiar form entered through the side door of the room Balgruuf had lent the bridal party for this purpose, Serana whipping around to see a tired but smiling Lydia standing there. What she was wearing wasn't so much a dress as a…well, combat skirt, for lack of a better term. Though, she had to admit, even if untraditional, Lydia looked absolutely stunning in hunter green. The Nord woman crossed her arms and inspected Serana with a slow nod as the vampire did the same to her.

Lydia's dress wasn't strapless, unlike the two vampires, but it was backless, revealing, for the most part, exceptionally smooth skin that was partially bronzed from her time out in the sun. The only defect, if one could even _call_ it that, was a long, diagonal scar running across her shoulderblades. Serana couldn't even guess how she'd gotten that one, but with how jagged it looked, it must've been with either a serrated blade or the claws of a wild beast—or perhaps a dragon. With a small frown, she approached her friend and embraced her tightly, Lydia returning the gesture.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized.

Sera shook her head. "Nonsense. You're right on time." She pulled back and smiled. "And you look _amazing_."

Lydia coughed and shuffled nervously. "You think so? I'm not overdoing it?"

Another shake of the head. "Nope. You look exactly how a maid of honor should."

The remaining bridesmaid shuffled in a few minutes later, Brelyna standing a little taller than usual with one-inch heeled shoes made of blue glass the same color as her dress, which looked almost like a cyan waterfall on her slender figure. It was definitely Elvish in style, and was sure to turn Agmaer's head, as Serana informed her a moment after seeing it. The Dunmer girl blushed a bit while thanking her, twirling her hair around her index. Instead of its usual kept horns, Brelyna had her charcoal-black hair done in a curled, double-braided style, giving the effect of identical loops of hair on either side of the back of her head.

Valerica had abandoned her double-bun for this occasion, and had the entire length of her hair draped forward over her left shoulder, on the side opposite the slit in her dress. It gave her the appearance of uniform asymmetry, with her right side overall more exposed than the left. Lydia's hair was the same as ever, if a bit tousled due to her rapid readiness. Sera doubted Brynjolf would mind much, and in that dress, she was _definitely_ aiming to impress.

Serana, likewise, had changed her look by undoing her horizontal braid and letting everything hang down naturally, the waves of her raven hair cascading over her shoulders just enough to give the appearance of a pooling curtain. She knew how much he loved this style on her, though he wouldn't be able to see it until he lifted her veil and hood. So, she guessed there would be a double-shock for her lover—first when she came out and walked down the aisle on Bard's arm, and then when he pulled the veil back and saw her fully. She honestly couldn't wait. Especially since her nerves were already shot to pieces and she just wanted to get going.

"Patience, dearest," Valerica said smoothly. "All in good time." She glanced at the newly arriving Babette with an arched eyebrow. "Are we ready?"

"For you guys, yeah," replied the "little" girl with a small frown at Serana. "The wolf is on his way; just running a little late."

Serana smiled and bowed her head in thanks, smirking at the sour look on Babette's face. For presumptuously feeding on Ketar (and because Serana _really_ enjoyed teaching the girl her place), Babette had been designated as the pretty little flower girl—complete with a bright, frilly pink dress. Only a calm word from Nazir and the assurance that he'd stay by her side all night had kept her from losing it and assaulting the bride who'd suggested it. Still, that didn't mean Serana wasn't going to have some fun at her expense.

"I must say, you just look _adorable_ in that dress."

Babette sent a growl her way. "You're lucky I like Ketty so much, or that dress would be the least of what gets torn apart."

Serana snorted and crossed her arms as the other bridesmaids exited her dressing room. "You're lucky _he_ likes _you_ so much, or that dress would be the only thing left of you."

Glaring, but realizing when she was outmatched, the vampire assassin huffed and left the room, leaving Serana in absolute silence and solitude. She resumed staring into her reflection, trying desperately to calm her breathing and heart rate as she waited for her cue and chaperone.

…

"Why did I ever agree to wear one of these?"

Brynjolf snorted a laugh. "Because you, you boor, have to be presentable at a wedding."

"My usual attire _is_ presentable. _This_ is just…uncomfortable."

Ketar frowned and stared into a mirror of his own as Brynjolf smoothed down the wrinkles in the groom's doublet, a white tunic with blue buttons and stitching matching the color of his eyes. Over the tunic was a light gray waistcoat with a flared collar and elaborate gray patterning along the edges. His trousers were the same white as his tunic, and his belt was made of black leather, the buckle a bright silver. His shoes were a pair of black jackboots that went almost up to his knees, the suit overall giving him the appearance of a Colovian admiral in his dress uniform. His amulet of Akatosh sat proudly in the open space between his collarbones, and on his right hand sat his customary silver-sapphire ring.

His jet-black hair had been slicked back and carefully trimmed for the occasion, perfectly framing his face with a gently rounded cut. He was, as usual, clean-shaven, and thanks to Sanguine's help, completely over his hangover, so no dark circles under his eyes. Overall, even _he_ thought he looked good in what he was wearing. It was just really, _really_ uncomfortable to have on…probably because he'd only worn this once before, and that was a _very_ long time ago, back when he'd first come to Skyrim. Strangely enough, it had been a gift from Delphine—as a means of infiltrating a Thalmor embassy undercover, but still.

"You'll be plenty comfortable when you finally get to take it off," said Brynjolf. "Think of this as the rising tension that gives you something to look forward to."

Back in a far corner of the room, a cross-armed Nazir smirked. "Pretty sure that tension's been rising all week."

Ketar coughed sharply before he could turn into a cherry tomato, smoothing down the front of his doublet and turning to the rest of his groomsmen. "How do I look?"

The other two frowned as they inspected his suit, Ketar getting his first chance to look them over as well. Agmaer had adopted a short burgundy kimono in the Akaviri style—apparently another gift from Delphine—with a dark gray tunic just visible underneath. It was secured with a red sash around his waist and tied at its center with a knot. Nazir was arrayed in the traditional style of Hammerfell, in fine robes of gold and white silk, with red stitching and patterning throughout. His trademark red turban was drawn around his head and secured in place under a fold of his robes, and his beard was carefully groomed and patterned to a sharp point.

Brynjolf was perhaps the most normal-looking of the set, in fine clothes nonetheless, but it seemed eerily familiar to what he'd been wearing when he and Ketar first met. Namely, a quilted blue jacket over an orange vest and long-sleeved white undershirt. As usual, however, the suave thief pulled it off with as little effort as breathing, and Ketar had no doubts he'd be noticed by most of the female crowd here, eligible or not. Though even behind that smile, Ketar could see his preoccupation with one person in particular.

Ketar put a hand on his friend's shoulder, smiling reassuringly. "It's gonna work out, Bryn. I know it will."

The Nord stared at him in confusion before understanding flickered in his green eyes and he started chuckling. "I believe I'm supposed to be the one telling _you_ that."

Ketar grinned. "Yeah, but what kind of wingman would I be if I didn't give you some reassurance?"

Another laugh rumbled through Brynjolf's chest as his head shook slowly. He clapped Ketar on the shoulder. "Come on. No doubt they're waiting for us."

The Dragonborn nodded and let out a slow breath as he made his way toward the exit of his dressing room, pushing the double-doors open and forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. The wooden halls of Dragonsreach's great hall had been decorated for the occasion with red and green garlands, sending sweet and earthy notes into the air. The main aisle had been cleared of the long tables, a series of theater-style chairs replacing them, with a small empty circle around the bonfire in the center. Ketar made his way to the side of the Jarl's throne, where Balgruuf sat in his usual finery.

As soon as he spotted the groomsmen, the Jarl rose to his feet and grasped Ketar's forearm in greeting. "Well, it's finally here, my boy. I never thought I'd see the day."

Kay smiled and shook his head. "Truth be told, neither did I, for a whole _host_ of reasons."

He waved dismissively. "Ach, just forget all that noise. Everything is ready and waiting for you. Only thing left to do is get started. Speaking of which…"

The double-doors comprising the entrance gate creaked open at the touch of the guards manning them, and all of their invited guests began streaming in. Members of the College of Winterhold and the Companions took their places next to an assortment of friends and dignitaries from all over Skyrim, Ketar going up to and greeting some of them, but stopping short when he caught sight of another kimono-clad form.

"Delphine? What are you _wearing_?"

The older woman smirked and arched an eyebrow with her hands on her hips. "You didn't seriously think I'd attend this thing in armor, did you?"

He chuckled and shook her hand. "I half-expected it, to be honest. Though I guess with how Agmaer's dressed, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise." He blinked and cocked his head. "I heard you were absent from the bachelorette party last night."

She shrugged and grunted. "Not my sort of gathering, to be honest."

Ketar arched an eyebrow and nodded slowly. "That makes two of us, but I didn't really get a choice in the matter."

Delphine smiled and bowed slightly. "Congratulations, to both of you."

"Thanks." He looked around, almost hoping to see Serana but instead catching sight of her bridal party. "I think we're just about to get started. Go ahead and find your seat."

Delphine nodded and turned toward the left-side row of chairs as Ketar kept scanning the room to make sure everyone found their place.

"Looks like quite the turnout."

Ketar blinked at the new voice, whirling around to see Zhanikan Vorenis' regal form standing before him in the same cloaked royal finery he'd worn in Jorrvaskr.

"Lord Zhanikan," he greeted, shaking his hand.

Zhan smiled warmly and chuckled. "Ah-ah, what did I say about formality?"

Ketar laughed. "Apologies. Zhan. Good to see you made it."

The king just kept smiling. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. It's important in these turbulent times to celebrate the joyful moments that make life truly worthwhile. I am honored to share this with such an esteemed friend."

He bowed in respect. "Well it's not every day I hear that from a king. Thank you." He heard the chime of a ready bell rang by Balgruuf's steward and gently patted Zhan's arm. "I think that's my cue."

"Of course. We'll talk later."

Moments later, Ketar was standing on Balgruuf's left side, his groomsmen arrayed next to him while the opposite end held the bridesmaids. Every guest was on their feet, the front rows comprised primarily of his closest friends in the Companions and College, with Delphine between Vilkas and Tolfdir. Ketar exchanged a look with the Jarl, giving the older man a nod to begin.

Balgruuf broadened his shoulders and projected his voice across the hall. "May the bride come forth as the break of dawn!"

…

Serana's stomach had twisted itself into about a dozen different knots after the others left. At present, she was nervously twisting the stems of her thick bouquet together, which was comprised of a fine array of black and blue orchids. When the entry door creaked open, she whirled around to see Bard striding in, the captain dressed from head to toe in the same gray and blue color scheme as his armor. His tunic was dark blue and laced together with black leather cords, his trousers light grey and pressed to perfection. On his belt sat the same ornate dagger he normally carried. His boots were a strange bluish-gray material she'd never seen before, and over everything, there was a deep blue trenchcoat made of rich velvet and adorned over the breast pockets with silver chains.

He looked every bit the part of a Lord Protector, even outside his armor.

Bard bowed deeply at the sight of her. "Milady, you are truly a sight to behold. Rarely has such a radiant bride graced the halls of any house of marriage."

Serana blushed and looked away. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure that's just the dress."

He chuckled. "Nonsense. Without your natural grace and beauty, that dress might as well be oil-stained rags."

She smiled and strode toward him. "Flattery to calm my nerves—well I'll admit, it's working."

He arched an eyebrow as he drew the hood and veil over her features and held out his left arm. "It isn't flattery if it's true, and I guarantee Ketar would say the same."

She just kept smiling. "I guess this is it."

Bard placed his free hand over hers as she linked her arm with his and turned for the door. "Remember: all the other eyes out there are just empty noise. Focus on your love, and you'll be just fine."

Serana chuckled. "I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. Every time I stare at him, I lose the ability to speak."

"Well this is your day; I hardly think anyone would protest if you needed to collect your thoughts."

She nodded slowly as Balgruuf's summoning call rang out, a long breath exhaled in an attempt to slow the frantic beating of her heart. "Let's go get married."

…

Ketar had to physically fight not to break out into laughter when he saw who the flower girl was…and she saw it on his face. The look of pure, unbridled murderous intent on Babette's otherwise smiling face was reflected in the almost aggressive way she scattered white flower petals across the aisle on her way up. With a concerted effort helped by Nazir's warning shake of the head, he managed to rein in his chuckles and keep his mirth to a minimum. Any breath he had for laughter left his lungs as soon as she came into view.

His dark blue eyes went as wide as they could go, a small flicker of surprise at seeing Bard Gorshun lead her down the aisle immediately overpowered by the sight of Serana. Everything from the black dress to her heels, to the elegant corset encasing her ample curves, was hand-tailored to make her body look like the epitome of feminine perfection. The flowers she held were the icing on the cake. But what held his attention the most had nothing to do with her choice of dress.

It was her eyes.

Beneath that black veil, he could see very little of her beautiful features. The only thing readily visible was the dual sunset of her glowing eyes, an unbelievable warmth shining through the veil as only hers could. That, more than anything, reassured him that this wasn't a dream, that he wasn't about to be pranked by Sam (who was suspiciously absent at the moment) and his bride revealed to be a troll in disguise. As they approached the bonfire, Bard and Serana drew apart, their hands still linked together over the flames as they stepped around either side, coming back together just in time to stop at the foot of the steps leading to the throne.

Ketar forced himself to keep a mostly straight face as he dragged his eyes to Bard, who nodded to him firmly as he passed Serana off. Ketar reached out with his right hand, delicately taking hers and leading her up the steps to stand in front of Balgruuf, facing each other. He forced himself to keep breathing, his gaze locked onto her eyes and absolutely unmoving, barely even blinking.

Balgruuf raised his voice and hands over the gathering. "On this beautiful winter day, we have come together to celebrate the lives and union of these, our beloved friends, in eternal matrimony. They have endured countless trials and tribulations to be here, as have many of you, and more still are on the horizon. However, if we do not take the time and effort to appreciate and celebrate the beautiful and desirable things in this world, then all that hardship is for nothing, and our lives are empty for it."

The Jarl smiled down at the couple. "Ketar Dov, Serana Volkihar—yours is a love borne of mutual struggle, and a desire to see each other safe and happy. A desire to prosper and grow together, as you never could apart. It gladdens me to see that Skyrim still has such fine people, and I know you will go far together." He glanced at Nelkir, his son, and waved him forward.

The boy, a short, brown-haired chit, strode between the bride and groom, holding a pillow with two rings that couldn't have been more different. One was glossy and black as night, the other a pale white silver unlike anything most had ever seen or forged. The sight of the latter brought a smile to Ketar's face as he remembered how he got it.

…

 _"Did you get my message?"_

 _Gelebor turned at Ketar's voice, smiling and nodding. "I did. However, I'm afraid attending your wedding is, unfortunately, out of the question."_

 _Ketar frowned and cocked his head. "Why's that?"_

 _He cleared his throat. "Well…I am the last of the Snow Elves. Having someone like me there would raise some questions that I'd rather not have to field."_

 _He arched an eyebrow. "You do know this wedding is going to have three vampires, two assassins, three Blades, a whole lot of mages—and a dragon…right?"_

 _Gelebor stared at him, chuckling warmly. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid my answer must remain no."_

 _Ketar sighed and shrugged. "All right, I won't push the issue. Just wanted you to know I had you in mind."_

 _The paladin bowed his head. "And I appreciate it. Ah—there is one thing."_

 _His head cocked as the Elf moved toward a chest at the far corner of the partially-rebuilt chapel._

 _"Well, two, actually, and one of them is in the wayshrine," he added, waving at the now-retracted structure in question. Gelebor cleared his throat as he straightened up and approached Ketar with a small, round object in his hands. "For you."_

 _Ketar blinked and extended his hand palm-up, a cold metal object dropped into it a moment later. "What…what is this?"_

 _"It's a ring. A wedding ring, to be more precise."_

 _"No, I mean…what's it_ made _of?"_

 _Gelebor smiled. "Long ago, the Snow Elves were exceptional smiths, weaving magic and metal in equal quantity with every thread of our work. In my many centuries of life, I've accumulated many talents, and as a result, I came across an ancient tome containing the secrets of forging a unique form of metal alloy. It goes by many names, but among my people, it was called 'mithril.' Lighter than steel, but harder than ebony."_

 _Ketar turned the ring over in his hand curiously, holding it up to the light of the sun. "It almost looks like what your armor is made of."_

 _"Almost," he conceded, "but admittedly, my armor is an inferior version."_

 _He waved toward the wayshrine, which rose from the ground with a small rumble, revealing the gilded form of Auriel's Bow—and a full suit of silvery white armor._

 _"My other gift to you," Gelebor explained. "Though the forging of this one is far beyond my skill."_

 _Ketar frowned as he approached the suit, plates of silvery white metal laid over what looked like a chainmail undersuit. "Is…the whole_ thing _made of mithril?"_

 _Gelebor nodded slowly. "Every inch. Though there was no helmet with it. Only a crown."_

 _The Dragonborn blinked and ran his fingers over the armor, hands drifting to a crown that sat on the pedestal below the suspended Auriel's Bow. It looked to be of the exact same material, a crested crown with a large square ruby set in its headpiece._

 _"Where did you_ find _this?" Ketar asked with no small amount of awe. He could_ feel _the magic radiating from this thing._

 _"The suit and crown were in Vyrthur's old chambers, locked away in a vault only he could open. With his death, I suppose that lock was broken, and the armor was revealed. Legend has it that in addition to using that bow, Auriel also wore the first suit of mithril armor into battle, and after he departed this world, he gifted it to his first Arch-Curate. It became the privilege and duty of each Arch-Curate since to carry and safeguard that armor, a duty that has now passed to me." He held his hands out. "In turn, I give it to you, the mortal emissary of Auriel on Nirn."_

 _Ketar stared at the armor, then at his ring. "Gelebor…this is…"_

 _The Elf smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "This is yours, Ketar. Consider it a wedding gift."_

 _Ketar smiled back and clasped his forearm. "Thank you, my friend."_

…

Balgruuf's voice snapped the groom back to the present.

"Do you, Serana of Clan Volkihar, agree to be bound to this man, in love and friendship, now and forever?"

Ketar just managed to see her lips move behind the veil as she answered, "I do. Now and forever."

Her slender fingers grasped the silvery mithril ring and slid it onto his left ring finger, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her hands.

"And do you, Ketar Niel Dov, Thane of Whiterun, agree to be bound to this woman, in love and friendship, now and forever?"

Ketar's hands trembled slightly as he took up the pure ebony ring in one hand and held her left hand in the other. "I do…without question."

He slid the ring onto her finger, seeing her eyes dance with joy as his own did the same.

"Then may the gods smile on your union and bless every moment you share." Balgruuf looked out over the gathering. "If any here have any reason why these two should not be joined, speak now, or may Mara smite you for your silence."

"I do."

The gruff, growling voice caught the attention of every person in the room, drawing it toward a scowling blond Nord at the far side of the great hall.

"Oh no," Ketar heard Serana exhale as a startled murmur passed through the guests.

The groom himself felt his jaw clench on instinct, his fingers twitching with the urge to either strangle or cast an _extremely_ lethal spell at this _very_ unwanted interruption. "Dirge," he greeted, voice falsely pleasant, "I don't remember inviting you."

Ignoring his attempt at levity, the former thief snarled and drew a steel axe from his belt as he stood in the center aisle, pointing the weapon in the couple's direction. "This man is a murderer and a thief! He cut my brother down in cold blood, and he must be made to answer for his crimes!"

"Guards!" the Jarl called, the soldiers rushing over.

Ketar held a hand up, a stern look on his face. "No. He's right, this is my mess." With a glance at a still-veiled Serana, he reluctantly released her hands and strode down the stairs, pacing toward Dirge. "I did kill your brother, as surely as he would've killed me, given the chance. I won't say it was entirely in self-defense; that would be a lie. But I did it for the sake of Riften, for the sake of everyone who had suffered under Maven Black-Briar, a woman your brother waited on hand and foot. He shared in her brutality; he _reveled_ in it. And when he refused to surrender, that crime became one I could not forgive."

Ketar's jaw clenched. "Much as I hate to admit it, you have every right to seek revenge. However, I ask that you wait a little longer, that you don't do it here, in front of all these people. This is no place for a bloodbath."

Dirge sneered. "You think I care about your rules? Your decorum? My brother is dead by your hand, and I've waited long enough!" He pulled his left glove off with his teeth and threw it down, some six feet in front of Ketar. "I challenge you to a trial by combat, for the memory of my brother, and the honor of my family name."

Ketar's features went cold as he stared at the glove, eyes dead and icy as they slowly drifted back up to Dirge's enraged features. His voice dropped in volume considerably, to almost a whisper. "Give this up, Dirge. You know you cannot win. Don't throw your life away like this."

"Pick up the glove."

He winced and shut his eyes tightly, opening them a moment later to glare at the other man. "I'm going to count to five…and when I do, I'm going to pick up that glove. When that happens, you're going to die. I understand it's a matter of honor, but I don't want this fight. Not here, not now. If you force my hand, I will strike you down without hesitation. I'll hate doing it, because this is supposed to be a night of joy, and killing you will mar it with needless bloodshed." He smiled coldly. "But, you see, you assaulted my bride."

Another murmur rumbled through the crowd.

"Two weeks ago, you cornered her in an alley with five other men and tried to do her harm to get back at me. She escaped without a scratch, which is why I'm offering you a way out. But…if I pick up that glove before you do…" his eyes flashed with fire, "I will take every bit of vengeance that is due me."

Dirge snarled. "I'd like to see you try."

"Dirge, don't be a fool, lad," Brynjolf warned.

"Shut up! You lost your right to an opinion when you stood by him against Maul!"

"If you challenge him, all you'll accomplish is getting yourself killed. Use sense, lad. You're better than this."

The Nord's teeth clenched. "Pick up…the glove."

Ketar stared at him, lips pursed tightly in restrained anger. "As you wish." He took his first step toward the glove. "One."

Another step, another foot closer.

"Two."

The tension in the room rose with every count.

"Three."

Dirge smiled madly, his axe held at the ready.

"Four."

Ketar felt the leather of the glove scuff against his boot, and gave Dirge one last long look to see any trace of hesitation. There wasn't. His jaw clenched as he uttered the final word.

"Five."

The Dragonborn bent down, his fingers about to brush the glove's material when—it was snatched from his grip by a familiar set of hands. Ketar blinked and straightened up to see a stone-faced Brynjolf staring down his former comrade.

"What?!" Dirge roared.

Ketar was just as shocked. "What do you think you're doing?"

Brynjolf's jaw worked. "My duty as your best man."

"…Bryn, this is my fault, my responsibility."

The thief shot him a small glare. "In case you've forgotten, Dirge is _my_ responsibility too. Has been a lot longer than yours."

"But—"

"But nothing." His eyes softened a bit. "Let me do this. It's the least I can do for leaving your lass unprotected."

"You don't have to—"

" _Please_ ," he pleaded.

Ketar stared back at him, eyes flickering to the side to see Lydia looking on, worry etched into her features. With a tightening of his jaw, Ketar reluctantly nodded and stepped away.

…

Brynjolf straightened and held the glove up in full view of the witnesses. "Ketar Dov accepts your challenge via proxy. I will fight as his second."

"You can't do this!" Dirge protested.

"On the contrary, I damn well can, and you know it." Brynjolf's eyes flashed with fire. "You threatened a man about to be married, in a room filled with dozens of his closest friends, and you thought you were just going to fight him unopposed?" He tsked and shook his head in reprimand. "I thought I taught you better than that."

Dirge scowled at a withdrawing Ketar before shifting his attention back to Brynjolf. "Fine. I'll kill you, then him! Now grab a weapon and let's go!"

Sighing, the master thief scratched the back of his head and looked toward one of the guards pleadingly. Instead, he felt a nudge at his side and turned to widen his eyes in shock and admiration. There was Lydia, standing in front of him in a deep green backless dress, holding an all-too-familiar glass sword.

"Here," she said, uncharacteristically shy. "Use this."

Brynjolf blinked at her, looking down and slowly reaching out to take the handle of Chillrend. "Thanks, lass." He scratched his head for a second. "Where'd you even _have_ it?"

Lydia grinned, a bit of her trademark sass returning. "A girl's gotta keep _some_ secrets for herself." Her smile faded quickly. "Be careful."

Brynjolf smiled and bowed his head slightly, turning his body toward Dirge while his eyes lingered on her retreating form. "Don't worry, lass," he said with a wink as he faced his opponent fully. His smile faded to a determined scowl, sword held at his side. "This won't take long."

And with that, the duel commenced.

Brynjolf appreciated the gesture from Lydia, but the fact was, he was used to using much shorter blades than this. As a result, when Dirge came leaping over the bonfire in a falling strike, he was forced to crouch and duck to the side, his blade coming up in a wing-block that sent the incoming weapon skidding away from his body. Dirge never let up for a second. As soon as his feet were planted on the ground, he turned and swung for Bryn's head and body, over and over again, practically chasing him across the aisle. Brynjolf leapt over the bonfire in a dive-roll, whirling to face his enemy and thrusting Chillrend toward the incoming Nord.

The steel axe batted his blade away, its pommel striking Brynjolf in the shoulder and following with another horizontal strike that would've beheaded him had he not ducked in time. He rolled to the side when Dirge tried to use his crouched position to knee him in the face, coming up with a swing at the man's shoulder and two more tight, rapid strikes to his other arm and knee. All were deflected and countered much faster than Brynjolf had anticipated. As a result, a shallow cut sprouted on his left cheek, forcing him to backpedal or suffer greater injuries.

The duel continued much the same way for quite a while, Brynjolf constantly on the defense in the face of Dirge's furious assault, unable to get a single solid hit in. As he blocked another overhead with the axe-head coming dangerously close to caving in his skull, he smirked. His smirk became a bloody grimace when Dirge finally succeeded in kneeing him in the face and planting him on his back, the thief dazed and disoriented.

"Bryn!" he heard Lydia scream out.

In his peripheral vision, Brynjolf saw her lunge forward only to be caught be Ketar, who said, "Wait."

Brynjolf hated to worry her like this, but his best friend was right. After all, this was always the plan. Dirge roared and brought his axe down hard, straight toward the prone Nord's chest. It planted itself in the stone floor instead when Brynjolf rolled to the side at the last second, rising to his feet before he could yank it loose and pinning it to the ground when he swung Chillrend's blade downward. The glass sword was pinched between the hook of the axe-head and the haft of Dirge's weapon, and no matter how he pulled, the Nord couldn't seem to get it unstuck.

With a confident grin, Brynjolf put all his weight behind a pivot of his blade, using the icy blue glass as a lever and dragging its edge against both wood and steel. The effect was to supercool both parts of Dirge's axe and make what happened next so much easier. Specifically, the shattering of the weapon into two halves, only the haft remaining in Dirge's grip as he staggered away. Brynjolf knocked the blunt piece of wood from his grasp with a rising swing, then spun clockwise and sliced a deep gash through Dirge's chest. The wounded Nord gasped and sputtered for breath as the pain and frostbite of his injury forced him to his knees.

Eyes wide, completely helpless, Dirge stared up at Brynjolf as he raised the sword with two hands, about to stab down into his chest and freeze him from the inside out. His eyes shut tightly as the blade fell—and planted itself into the ground in front of him. Dirge hazarded a look, and when he realized he wasn't dead, looked up at his opponent in confusion.

Brynjolf was panting hard with exertion and emotion. "You're better than this, lad. And even if you're not, you _can_ be. Don't let the bitterness of your brother's death rob you of your future. I promise you, whatever else Maul was, he was a good brother, and he never would've wanted you to throw your life away like this." He grunted as Chillrend was yanked from the ground, turning and throwing it back to a gaping Lydia. His attention quickly returned to the kneeling Dirge. "Come back to the Guild, be a part of our vision. Continue your family's name by doing something _good_."

Dirge stared at him in disbelief, jaw tightening as he cast a glare at Ketar. "You sure that'd be okay with your _Guildmaster_?"

…

At this, Ketar released Lydia and sidled up next to Brynjolf, who stepped out of the way so Ketar could take his place. "I already told you: abandon your quest of vengeance, and I'll let you walk away free and clear. That offer still stands." His eyes narrowed. "As does my other one. You still have two choices." He drew the Blade of Woe from the back of his belt, throwing it down in front of Dirge. "You can pick up that knife and die…" he held out his right hand, "or you can take my hand and live. As your Guildmaster, I will support whatever decision you make, but before you choose, you should know something.

"If you desire to go to Sovngarde, to be reunited with your brother, you may want to reconsider." He frowned. "Until I defeat Alduin, every soul in Sovngarde is vulnerable, a target for his endless hunger. Even if Maul is one of the fortunate souls who hasn't been devoured, you very well might be. So tell me…do you want to die, and sacrifice your life here for a fleeting chance at being reunited with your brother…or do you want to live and carry on his legacy; make it something more than a criminal record?"

Ketar's jaw tightened. "I don't want to kill you, and I didn't want to kill your brother. Especially not here and now, on my wedding night. I don't want to stain this memory with blood, but for you, if that is truly your choice…I'll do it."

Dirge stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face, searching his eyes for…something. His gaze drifted to the curved dagger before him as he rose to one knee, his fingers closing around its hilt. Ketar's eyes narrowed as he just sat there, staring at the Blade. And he smiled when the other man switched the weapon so he held it by the blade, offering Ketar the hilt. The Dragonborn took it back and smiled wider as he slipped it back into its sheath.

"Good choice," he said, holding out his hand.

Dirge took it and allowed himself to be hauled upright, grunting at the pain in his chest. Ketar's left hand flared with magic for a moment before the wound vanished entirely. He waved to one of Balgruuf's attendants.

"Get this man a towel." He took Dirge's arm and gently nudged him toward the groom-side seats. "Wipe yourself off, and then go stand with the rest."

Dirge stared at him blankly. "…what?"

Ketar grinned and gave him a curious look, as if baffled by his answer. "Haven't you noticed? This is a wedding. We can't have a guest standing all alone in the aisle."

The Nord blinked in disbelief as Ketar released him and strode back up to rejoin his bride.

"Why have enemies…" the Dragonborn sent him a small wink, "when you can have friends?"

And with that, the last vestiges of Dirge's fury drained away, and he obeyed as if in a trance as Brynjolf half-dragged him over to stand with the groomsmen. Ketar just kept smiling as he took Serana's hands and returned his attention to his only true love.

…

Clearly startled by the unusual turn of events, Balgruuf cleared his throat and raised his voice once more. "If you are in agreement, and none have reason to protest," he sent a small glare at Dirge, "then I see no reason why you should not be joined."

Valerica couldn't possibly hope to wipe the smile off her face as she felt her daughter radiating with pure joy. For Serana to have a fate so unlike her own…it brought true warmth to her long-cold heart. In the corner of her eye, however, she spotted something that drew her attention away from the couple: Lord Zhanikan, staring at them blankly, as if trying desperately to keep his features neutral. She frowned a bit and cocked her head in curiosity, but turned back to the proceedings when the Jarl spoke once more.

"By the power vested in me by the gods and the people of Whiterun," Balgruuf waved his hands over their heads, "I pronounce you…man and wife." He smirked. "You may now kiss your bride."

Ketar smiled and slowly lifted the veil from her face, pulling the hood back completely and gasping a bit at the sight of her. Valerica smirked at his reaction, at how wide his eyes became. Babette hadn't been wrong in the slightest about the effect she had on that man. Her vampire hearing just managed to pick up Ketar's words, faintly whispered against Serana's lips as he drew close.

 _"I love you."_

With a tearful smile, she replied, _"I love you too."_

And as their lips embraced and arms drew around each other, the entire building erupted in deafening applause.

Except for one person.

Valerica's eyes drifted back to the king standing on the front row, who was staring at the couple with a slight tremor in his hands, golden eyes reddened slightly, with tears streaming down his face. His expression was neutral and carefully schooled, but his eyes…his eyes held untold volumes of emotion that couldn't have been louder if he'd shouted at the top of his lungs. Bard, who was at his side, noticed, and leaned in to whisper while the applause was still ringing.

 _"Are you all right, milord?"_

Zhanikan blinked and jerked his head toward Bard, seemingly snapped out of his trance as he gulped and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. _"Yes,"_ he replied softly, turning back to the couple with a profoundly sad smile on his lips. _"Everything is wonderful."_

Frowning, Valerica's eyes narrowed as numerous questions ran through her head. She eventually turned back to Ketar and Serana, who had finally broken apart and were grinning at each other with heavy blushes in their cheeks. Finally united in marriage, the pair turned toward the crowd of guests and held their linked hands up in triumph, to another wave of thunderous applause.

…

Ketar was floating. Well, not literally, of course, but he couldn't remember a single time in his life when he'd been this happy. Not even when she'd accepted his proposal, or admitted she loved him for the first time. He was so light, he felt like he could dance across the sky. And speaking of dancing…

"Come on!" he shouted, waving the wedding party toward the stairs and leading them to the second floor.

The guests came to an abrupt and complete halt when they came face-to-face with a massive red dragon—completely unshackled and free to roam the large, open space of the second floor.

His eyes immediately locked onto Ketar and Serana, his head bowed in respect. " _Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin_. I apologize that I could not witness the ceremony, but my size would not allow for it."

Ketar chuckled and waved dismissively. "No problem at all." He turned to Serana, holding her hands and smiling. "Wait here a second, will you?"

She nodded and released him, prompting him to run toward another set of stairs and find someone who was sitting at the bench of a large instrument. He gave them a single grinning nod, then headed back for the stairs.

…

Serana was talking with Agmaer and Brelyna while the rest of the party spread across the wide, open space, finding their names at various tables. Unsurprisingly, the vastly diverse crowd of guests had acclimated to finding a live dragon at Ketar's reception rather quickly, prompting Balgruuf to just shake his head in disbelief. Serana was laughing at a story the young couple was telling when she heard the faint notes of a harpsichord carry over the din. It took a second, but the rest of the guests quickly fell silent once they heard it.

Serana's eyes widened and jaw dropped when she recognized the tune. _No…can't be…he was asleep…_

Then she heard it: a deep, masculine voice. Familiar but unfamiliar, in that its tone and tune were like nothing she'd ever heard. She turned to the stairs Ketar had vanished up, gaping even more when she saw him descend slowly, step by step, humming the harpsichord's tone the whole way down.

And then he opened his mouth, and her heart stopped.

" _Nirn below, sky above;  
All he has in the world_."

His eyes smiled as his voice rang out loud and clear, and he strode toward her with his hand extended.

" _For all the gifts of life unfurled_ _  
 _Fade to ash in the absence of love.__ "

Serana numbly took his hand, unable to get over her shock as she gaped at him, allowing herself to be led out to the center of the floor.

" _For too long sole, too long alone  
He walks through life with heart of stone.  
Touched by fire, clothed in ash  
For actions taken young and rash._"

Ketar held her closer, his right hand holding her left and his left circling her waist, not once pausing in his song as they began to sway to the music.

" _Over the slopes of the Jerall,_ _  
 _Almost wishing he would fall,_  
 _He hopes and aches for something more;_  
 _A final hope before the morn.__ "

Serana couldn't believe her ears, or her eyes, or…this was so far from the concept of reality that she almost expected to wake up back in her bed, or in a crypt somewhere, abandoned once again. Something this wonderful couldn't possibly have happened to her. But she was wrong.

" _And even as he falls to Nirn,_ _  
 _To level ground and no return,_  
 _The unforgiving stones relent_  
 _And in her arms he finds respite.__ "

Ketar looked into her eyes, into her soul, Serana's vision of him blurred as she cried without a sound. His smile was just visible through the fog of her tears.

" _And when he wakes after the sun,  
His soul is warmed; his heart is won.  
For in the morning light he sees  
Dear Mara's gift, a calming breeze._"

Her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably, her arms tightening around his body as she pressed her face into his chest.

" _For the aching in his heart has stopped,_ _  
 _Cooled to a warm and longing burn.__ _"_

Ketar drew back just enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks and meet her eyes.

 _"In her eyes he sees the stars,_ _  
 _And in her heart he sees his world.__ "

He leaned down and claimed her lips as the sound of the harpsichord slowly fell away, leaving his wife—his _wife_ —an absolute sobbing mess and the rest of the guests giving them another standing ovation.

…

It was during this round of deafening applause that Valerica finally found Zhanikan alone, the tall king standing and staring out at the newlyweds with a wistful look in his eye. The vampire matron's jaw clenched as she sidled up next to him.

"So."

Zhanikan blinked and looked down at her curiously. "So?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Exactly when do you intend on telling him?"

He cocked his head. "Tell him what?"

Valerica's upper lip twitched. "Don't play dumb with me, _Lord Zhanikan_. My daughter and son-in-law may not be able to see it, but I do."

Zhan smirked and chuckled. "See what? And how do you know they don't? They seem like very perceptive people to me."

She crossed her arms. "Oh, they are, without question." Her smile faded to a frown. "However, unlike me, neither of them are parents."

His honey-gold eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

Valerica smiled coldly and cocked her head a bit. "Or should I say…unlike _us_?"

Zhanikan held her intense gaze for a long time, slowly turning back to the couple and watching as they and the other guests paired off and resumed dancing.

"So, I'll ask again, _your highness_ …just how long do you intend to wait?"

Zhan's lips twitched upward as he smiled sadly, his eyes fixed on a laughing Ketar. "Until he's ready." He took a deep breath and glanced at her. "After all, tonight is for them…not us."

Valerica frowned, but gave a grunt of grudging agreement as she too returned her attention to her newlywed daughter and the man who'd won her heart.

…

While the other guests were busy on the dance floor, or with the hefty feast Balgruuf had served up and Ketar had bought and paid for, Lydia was searching the massive room for a certain redhead. Frowning, she strode up to the dragon currently lounging at the far end of the room and snapped her fingers to get his attention.

"Hey! You've got a longer neck than everyone else. Can you find someone for me?"

Odahviing turned to her with a look that was somewhere between amusement and affront. "If you wish for a bird's eye view of this place, go to the upper floors. I am not some—"

" _Please_ ," she pleaded. "This is important."

The dragon blinked at her a few times, his features softening slightly. "Who is it you wish to find?"

"His name is Brynjolf. He has long red hair, and he's wearing a dark blue doublet."

Odahviing snorted and tossed his head derisively. " _Joor mey_. Have you no eyes?"

"…what?"

He nodded his massive head toward the open doors next to him, to the outside balcony overlooking the rear of Whiterun. When Lydia turned toward it, she saw him: the red hair, the quilted doublet, a small tankard of Black-Briar mead in his hand as he stared out at the sky. Feeling a blush creep up her skin, Lydia cleared her throat and muttered a quiet thanks to the dragon, who immediately dismissed her. Gulping, she strode toward Brynjolf with a slight shake to her steps, knocking on the doorframe to get his attention.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked back at her and smiled with a shake of his head. "Not at all." He turned back to the early night sky, leaning against the stone railing of the balcony with his mug held in front of him. "He picked the perfect weather for this. Not a cloud in sight tonight."

Lydia chuckled. "You must not have heard what happened when he woke up, then."

"Huh?"

"Right before he joined the rest of you here, he _Shouted_ the weather into submission. Wasn't taking any chances with his wedding night."

Brynjolf laughed heartily. "Of course he didn't." When he calmed some, he nudged her arm with his elbow. "Hey, I'm sorry for making you worry back there."

Lydia frowned and shook her head. "It's all right. I know you had to do it. Where _is_ Dirge?"

"Probably drinking himself into oblivion. He's got a lot to process right now."

"I bet."

The balcony fell silent for a while.

"That dress looks really nice on you."

"Oh, um…thanks."

 _I picked it out with you in mind_ , she added mentally.

Lydia was starting to heat up, breaking out into a cold sweat as she nervously toyed with her hands amid her struggle for words. Finally, she found a way to start. "Hey, um…you remember our wager? On the drinking game?"

Brynjolf sighed and laughed ruefully. "Aye, lass. I'm having your money sent here by the morning. A tidy sum, if I may say so myself."

"N-No, that's not what I…" Lydia sighed hard. "Sam rigged the game."

He blinked and looked up at her. "What?"

Her lips pursed as she met his eyes. "He switched our states right when _I_ was about to puke all over the floor, and…he made sure I won." She frowned. "I would've lost if it weren't for him, so…you don't have to keep your end."

Brynjolf stared at her for a while before huffing and smiling, rubbing the back of his head. "Ach, I think it's high time I give it all back anyway. Kept it in a dedicated investment fund for that exact reason, point of fact."

"No, I mean…I want to satisfy _my_ end of the wager."

He looked at her with a small, reassuring smile. "Lass, you don't have to do a thing, all right? I made that wager when we were both drunk on Maven's arrest. I'd never force you to—"

"But I don't want you to keep your end."

Another sigh. "Lydia, I release you from the terms of our wager."

"Well…" she gulped hard, her green eyes hardening with her resolve, "I don't release you."

"…eh?"

In a burst of courage (or madness), Lydia reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it in two of hers. "I want to be your housecarl for the week."

Brynjolf stared at her blankly, blinking every so often. "You…mean…"

"I want to be with you for the week." Her heart hammered violently in her chest as she gulped past the fear in her throat. "I—I want to be with you longer…if you'll have me."

And _then_ he understood—at least by the way his eyes went as wide as they could go and his jaw hit the floor. "Y-You're not…yankin' my chain, or…teasin' me, are you lass? Because, I don't think I could handle—"

Her lips on his was the only answer she had voice and courage enough left to give.

It was enough.

Brynjolf's hands immediately abandoned his tankard for her chestnut-colored hair, the rail for the slender curve of her hips. Their eyes slipped shut as they embraced deeply, finally, a profound satisfaction and warmth surging through every inch of Lydia's body and making her toes curl with excitement. This was like nothing she'd ever felt, not with a single one of her previous lovers.

And she never, _ever_ wanted it to stop.

All that fear, all that shame, all that time wasted…all of it had led here, to this man. This wonderful, beautiful man with the patience of Saint Alessia. She didn't know if this was love, but if this was what love felt like, then _oh gods yes_ , she loved him for it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered raggedly against his lips. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

A small, breathless laugh rumbled through Bryn's chest. "It's all right, lass. You're here…and that's all that matters."

…

Unbeknownst to the room's newest couple, Serana and Ketar were eyeing their union with grins plastered to their faces.

"Well it's about damn time," said Serana.

"I couldn't agree more," he replied, smiling down at her warmly. "For both of us."

They'd been dancing for quite a while now, the musicians alternating the tempo of their songs at a regular pace, but Ketar was hungry and getting a little worn out. He had to keep his stamina up for later, after all…something that was already making him blush in anticipation. Husband and wife exchanged a small chuckle as they made their way off the dance floor, Ketar's eyes warming as they alit on a slow-dancing Brelyna and Agmaer. They held hands all the way to the newlyweds' table, Ketar pulling her seat out for her and pushing it back in once she'd taken it.

He kissed her hair, whispering to her, "I'll be right back."

She smiled up at him with a nod as he made his way toward Odahviing, the aloof dragon quiet and reserved as always as he overlooked the gathering.

"So…are you enjoying yourself?"

Odahviing glanced down at him. "I suppose. Though I have to wonder why you unshackled me when the exit door is open and clear."

Ketar smiled and crossed his arms as he leaned back on the dragon's haunches. "You gave your word you'd take me to Skuldafn. I believe you. Even if you do leave, I know you'll return at my call when I'm ready to go." He gently thumped Odahviing's leg with his fist. "Besides, I can't have my wedding guests chained to a wall. That's just bad taste."

The dragon's chest rumbled with soft laughter, his expression turning serious after a while. "Why did you want me to be here?"

Ketar's features sharpened. "Because I want you to see exactly what it is Alduin intends to destroy. As immortals, you have forever, all of time, to make your mark on the world. But us? We have maybe four score years before our bodies waste away, and we become old and frail."

"It does seem counter-intuitive to promise forever to another mortal when you know that cannot happen."

He smirked and chuckled softly. "You know, that's almost exactly what my wife said." His head shook rapidly. "Man, it is _weird_ being able to say that now." He waved at the crowd around them. "We know we don't have forever, but it's nights like this that give us access to that infinite pool of time."

Odahviing blinked and frowned in confusion. "I don't follow."

"This is our legacy. Human, Elf, vampire…the memories and love we make here will last long after we're gone. In fact…it's the _only_ thing that'll be left of us when we're gone. That's why we try so hard in our few years of life, to make a difference, to make our mark. And for those who succeed in this, that mark is truly great." Ketar smirked. "After all…a torch that burns half as long…shines twice as bright."

The dragon stared at him for a while, humming thoughtfully. "Put that way, I suppose there is something about the mortal spirit that is…truly admirable."

"And that, my friend, is why you're here."

…

Valerica was still brooding over her brief conversation with Zhanikan when she felt a presence sidle up next to her.

"Enjoying yourself?"

She looked over to see an older man standing there, with long white hair and a thick grey beard. His eyes were like silver, and he bore a dark red tattoo on his right cheek.

Valerica grunted and turned back to her drink. "Well enough, I suppose." Once she'd taken another sip, she asked, "You're one of the Companions, are you not?"

"I am. Kodlak Whitemane, at your service."

She arched a raven eyebrow. "The Harbinger? Ah…your name is well-merited, I see."

He chuckled warmly and bowed his head slightly. "It certainly helps with the morning routine when I don't have to maintain a clean-shaven appearance."

That got a small smile out of the otherwise cold woman. "Few men can pull off a 'mane' quite like yours."

He arched a gray eyebrow. "And am I one?"

Her eyes narrowed in challenge as she took a long draught from her tankard. "Keep me interested, and we'll see."

…

It was about two hours later, when the festivities were calming somewhat, when the bridal party and groomsmen finally gathered together at one table, stories and laughter and copious amounts of food and drink exchanged. Neither of the newlyweds could believe just how far they'd all come, or how well they mixed together. Agmaer and Brelyna sat ridiculously close together, always touching somewhere as they laughingly fed each other. Lydia and Brynjolf hadn't stopped grinning since their kiss, and seemed on the path to a friendly rematch of their drinking game. Nazir and Babette were enjoying the company, the former still comforting the latter about the frilliness of her dress and her inability to drink with so many witnesses.

Even Valerica had shown up with a plus-one when she strode over towing Kodlak Whitemane, of all people. By the look on Serana's face, her daughter was…a little unnerved at the sight of her mother actually _smiling_ at the old warrior's jokes. To be fair, Ketar was as well. Valerica was just so cold and stiff all the time, and to see her…well, anyway, he was happy for them, in a mildly creeped-out sort of way. It wasn't until two familiar foreigners strode over that the vampire matron's smile finally dropped, though Ketar didn't really notice it as he rose to his feet to greet them.

"Lord Gorshun, Lord Zhanikan. I'm sorry we haven't spoken all night."

Zhan chuckled and waved him off. "Nonsense. You've been busy with your blushing bride, as well you should be. I just wanted to give you a wedding present before heading out."

Serana rose from her seat as well. "You're leaving already?"

He smiled ruefully. "Sadly, yes. I wish I had more time to spare, but…duty calls."

Neither of them noticed the derisive snort from Valerica.

Zhanikan reached into a pocket in his doublet and pulled out a small wooden box made of expensive wood, with the same draconic crest as his signet ring engraved in its surface. Ketar gently took it from his grasp and opened the lid, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity when he saw two items inside: a rolled-up scroll with the Zhanik'la royal seal, and an amulet with a small amethyst in its center. Ketar blinked and glanced up at the smile Zhanikan was trying to hide, breaking the seal on the scroll and skimming the contents of the document.

His eyebrows shot skyward when it sank in. "This…is…"

"The deed to a summer home in Zhanik'la," the king finished for him. "Fully furnished, with an excellent view of the mountains."

Serana picked up the amulet. "And this?"

"That—is a telecommunications amulet. The stone in its center is the important piece. It's been enchanted to be able to contact any others of the same kind."

Ketar nodded slowly. "I'm familiar with this magic."

"Then you know how to use it."

Another nod.

Zhan smiled. "Well, if you ever need my help—or that of Bard—please, do not hesitate to contact us."

Ketar huffed a laugh, returning the scroll and necklace to the box, then frowning up at the king. "I don't mean to look a gift horse in the mouth, but…why us?"

Something unreadable twitched at his lips as his golden eyes flickered briefly to Valerica. "Let's just say I'm…investing in your future, both as heroes and a couple."

Ketar tucked the box under his arm and shook Zhanikan's hand. "Thank you, milord. And thank you both for coming."

Zhanikan bowed slightly as Ketar shook Bard's hand as well. "My boy, as I've already said…I would not have missed this for anything."

Serana embraced Bard tightly, the werewolf whispering something to her that made her smile.

"I will," she replied as they pulled away.

The two men from Zhanik'la waved their goodbyes to the rest of the wedding party, and then vanished from sight and mind moments later.

…

From a far corner of the room, dark and deserted, a Breton man stood smirking as he leaned against a wall, watching their laughter.

"Welp," he said, pushing off, "I think my work here is done." He strode toward the outside balcony, throwing up his index and middle finger in a "V" symbol. "Peace!"

No one saw or heard him go outside, and not a single soul noticed him vanish into thin air as soon as he reached the balcony.

…

"I think we better get going," Ketar said after another half hour of celebration.

"What?" demanded Babette.

"Already?" Lydia whined.

Ketar smiled and threw his arm around the woman at his side. "This one and I have a threshold to cross."

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow at them. "Two, actually, if I'm not quite mistaken."

He blushed, but didn't deny it, only grinning in reply.

Bryn saluted them with his tankard, the other hand wrapped around Lydia's. "Have fun, you two."

The sentiment was echoed by all the rest, who saw them off with loud cheers and jubilation. On their way back to Breezehome, Ketar kept his arm around his wife's shoulders, every so often pressing a kiss to her forehead. No words were exchanged for a long time, the two of them just enjoying the gentle night breeze. Guards and the few citizens left outside shouted their congratulations as they passed by, but apart from a few token niceties, the couple had attention only for each other. Ketar smirked when they reached the door of Breezehome, stopping Serana from going inside, much to her confusion.

That is, until he put one hand around her back and the other around her knees, her rich black dress clinging to every one of her curves as she surrendered to his touch and circled his neck with her arms.

"Hey," she said quietly, "that song you sang…"

He smirked again. "You didn't know I could sing, did you?"

"Well, that and…why did you choose it?"

Ketar gently kicked the door open and carried her across the threshold of Breezehome, lazily making his way to their bedroom. "Well, I was talking to a bard friend of mind—the one who was playing the harpsichord—and discussing traditional Nordic romance songs. When we came across that one, it kinda just…clicked."

She hummed against his collarbone, gently placing her lips against his neck and kissing him over and over.

"Mm, down girl."

"Nope."

Ketar looked down at her in question.

Serana smiled up at him deviously. "You don't have to tell me that anymore, remember?"

He chuckled. "Well yes, but I'd rather not have our first time on the stairs."

The vampire blinked and looked down, falling into a fit of laughter and almost making her husband do the same.

"Don't make me laugh!" he complained. "I might drop you."

She calmed somewhat and looked up at him lovingly. "You'd never let me go."

Ketar gently nuzzled her cheek as they approached the doors of the bedroom. "Nope. I love you too much to ever let you go again."

Her eyes slipped shut as she buried her face in his neck and kissed him again. A giggle escaped her lips when she was bodily thrown onto the mattress, Ketar grinning as he shut the doors behind him. Serana stared up at him, biting her lower lip and summoning him with a finger. For just a moment, her smiling face was replaced by another, red-haired and wearing a great deal less. His smile flickered with sadness at the memory before his mind finally caught up to the fact that this was no dream, no memory. This was all him, and her, and their future together.

Then he was all too happy to oblige her.

…

"Okay—okay, where did you learn that, and who do I have to kill?"

Ketar let out a frustrated huff as he rolled off her, both of them still wearing their smallclothes and not even having gotten to the stage he found himself rushing toward. "I don't want to talk about it."

"…it was Sam, wasn't it?"

He groaned and jammed his palms into his eyes. "It was Sam. The bachelor party consisted of drinking, fighting, and telling stories about… _this_."

"Ohhh…see I didn't have that problem."

He snorted derisively. "You didn't have a Daedric Lord to deal with."

"Nope. I just had Lydia."

"…good point. Though that seems to have worked out perfectly in the end."

"Mhm." She tapped his lower lip as she straddled his hips. "Now stop talking about other women and focus."

Ketar chuckled and sighed breathlessly. "Pretty easy when I have this picture to keep me occupied."

Serana smirked and reached back. "Then how about we make it a little more distracting…"

"What are you… _oh_ …"

She grinned as her bra was carelessly tossed aside. "Now, what do you say we try that again…without the teeth?"

Ketar was trying very hard not to physically drool, because he was already doing it in his head. " _Definitely_ without the teeth."

…

Frustrated huffs split the otherwise quiet air of Breezehome's master bedroom as Ketar rolled off his wife, the vampire frowning and reaching for him. He shrank away from her touch, sitting upright and glaring into the distance.

"Hey," she whispered. "Hey, it's okay."

He ignored her and just sat there, hands fisting in his lap.

Serana sighed and came up behind him, her finally nude body pressed up against his back. "What's wrong, love?"

"I can't…" he hissed through his teeth, "I can't do a thing right."

"Hey," she interrupted, tapping his lips to get his attention. "Stop that. It's not your fault, okay? All the stories in the world can't prepare you for your first time."

"I know, I just—"

"Just nothing. There's no reason to get frustrated, Kay. I can take good care of you, and we'll just try again later."

"No-no-no, I am getting this right."

"Kay—"

"Sera," he interrupted sharply, taking her hand and looking back at her pleadingly. "Please."

She bit her lower lip. "But I really, _really_ want to take care of you."

He turned to face her more. "And you think I don't want the same thing?"

"But—"

"Serana." He placed a hand on her cheek. "You…I haven't been able to do a thing to satisfy that craving of yours, even with my restrictions finally lifted."

She smiled. "And I'm telling you, I can wait." A grin. "Trust me, seeing you satisfied is a great start."

His head shook. "Even if we have to keep working at it, I want—I _need_ to get this right tonight. Just once." He took her hands in his. "So please…please teach me."

Serana blinked and stared at him, at his earnest, vulnerable expression, and blushed visibly. "You…are so hard-headed."

Ketar smiled, knowing he'd won. "And you love me for it."

She kissed him soundly, one hand reaching down and out of his sight. "Mhm."

He inhaled sharply.

"Definitely."

"Ugh…you're so evil."

"And you love me for it."

"I always, uh, have, but…but I haven't really been able to fully appreciate it until now."

Serana stopped suddenly, biting her lower lip and frowning a little.

Ketar looked up at her. "What?"

She took a breath, stopping, then hesitantly speaking. "There's…an idea I have. Something I want to try, to bridge the gap in your head. But…it might be a little risky."

He arched an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we tipped that scale when we lost our clothes."

Serana gave him a deadpan look. "Kay, that's _risqué_."

He grinned toothily. "I know."

Her glowing eyes rolled in amusement as he chuckled against her collarbone. "But seriously…this could be actually risky, to you at least."

Ketar leaned back and laid his chin on his palm. "How's that?"

Serana leaned her head against his chest, absently running her fingers over his sides as he stroked her hair. "When vampires are…intimate…there's this thing we can do, by sharing each other's blood. In fact, it's done to some extent every time we feed. We forge something of a…" she waved at her head, "what do you call it? Empathic connection. We're more connected to the thoughts and feelings of whatever we consume the blood of. If opened to its fullest extent, it becomes a full meld of thought and emotion, with no barriers or inhibitions."

He cocked his head. "Has that happened with me? The lesser version, I mean."

She frowned and bit her lip. "Yes. And truth be told, I've sort of…manipulated it."

"…how?"

Her lips pursed. "You remember the day you found out what Vingalmo did to me? How you went to sleep right after?"

"Yes, vaguely. I remember I was having a nightmare, but…couldn't tell what about. And it stopped pretty quickly after—oh. That was you?"

Serana nodded against his chest. "I could feel how upset you were, how scared. So I…I accessed that connection and used it to calm you down."

"…you sang to me."

Another nod. "That's why you recognized the song."

"Did you…"

"Do it again? Every nightmare since."

Ketar went quiet for a while, Serana looking up and meeting his eyes uncertainly.

"Are you mad at me?"

He searched her worried eyes for a few moments before shaking his head. "No, I'm not mad." He held up a finger. "Under one condition."

She blinked. "Okay?"

He smiled warmly. "You've already heard me sing. I say we keep that even."

Serana smiled and nodded. "Deal. But not now."

Ketar chuckled. "No, not now. Right now, I want to hear a very _different_ song."

"Ooh is that right?"

He drew her up into his arms. "So how would this work exactly? You just feed on me?"

"It's a little more complicated than that, but I'll handle the technical bits. All you have to do is open your mind."

Ketar blinked and stared at her in confusion. "That's it? Then why did you say it was risky?"

Her smile faded slowly. "Because the full meld has never been done on a mortal before. Not successfully, anyway. Though usually that's because they resist, and any time one resists the connection, there can be…damage to the mind."

"Oh. I see. So as long as I don't resist, this should go off without a hitch."

"Well yes. Even if something does go wrong, if there's any mind that's strong enough to handle a mishap, it's yours, but…it's still a risk. And then there's the question of whether or not you're willing to let me see…all of you."

Ketar smirked wryly. "Like I said, I'm pretty sure we tipped that scale when we lost our clothes."

She released a long-suffering sigh. "Kay—"

"I know what you mean," he interrupted softly, "and I already told you: I'm an open book. The question is, are you okay with me seeing all of you?"

Serana stared at him, lips pursed, and nodded slowly as she raised herself to loom over him. "I want you to. I _need_ you to."

He smiled warmly. "Then go ahead."

"…are you sure? You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Ketar nodded and kissed her gently. "I know. I love you…and I trust you."

Serana smiled widely, shutting her eyes briefly in elation before meeting his gaze and placing an index on his chest, gently pushing him down. "Then lay back…and close your eyes."

Ketar did as she instructed, feeling her form move over him, her lips press against his skin in numerous places, tracing a path up his side and chest until she reached his neck. One gentle kiss after another was placed along his jaw, his chin, going down his neck as her nose traced over his skin, making him shiver with excitement. His breathing was labored by the time he felt the tip of her tongue trace over his pulse point. He felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath she had when she bared her fangs.

And when her teeth pierced his skin, his eyes flew wide open, and all the breath left his lungs as his whole world exploded.

…

The outright cacophony of light, sound, and every sense imaginable pierced their collective consciousness like a ballista. Images, memories, noises of laughter and pain alike; everything flew through their heads at once until some things began to clear. Husband and wife saw distinctly different things, distantly aware of physical motion that gave them a vague sense of what their bodies were doing. What occupied their attention was the slew of memories that bombarded their senses and captivated them like children.

But this was not the same way he'd seen Miraak's memories, like he was being forced to relive each moment as a helpless victim. No, in the back of his head, he could _feel_ Serana, consciously or unconsciously leading him through each one, as if he'd been there as her lifelong friend and not a passenger in her mind. Likewise, Serana could feel the exact same thing, and with each passing moment, knew more about her beloved husband than ever before.

She saw him running from the Blades as a toddler, crying and hiding in the rafters of Cloud Ruler Temple as they waited for him to climb down. Ketar saw Serana as a child, playing and learning in her mother's garden. He saw the happiness in her eyes, the excitement in her body as she memorized the name of one plant after another. Saw the disappointment in her posture when her father arrived and gave them a disapproving look. She watched as a five-year-old Ketar hammered on a wooden dummy with his bare hands, wincing every time his tiny fists hit the thing. Witnessed the care Niel and Katja showed as they instructed him in proper technique. The shadows in his eyes when they answered none of his questions about his parents.

He saw her as a teenager, running about the halls of Castle Volkihar as she was chased down by a boy around her age. Their first kiss on the balcony where they watched the sunset. She saw Ketar's growing frustration during sword training, the way he was tossed about like a ragdoll when he lost his balance. His anger and recklessness, that eventually led him to overextend himself over the course of his training. She felt his terror when he fell into the spider hole, his relief when he was rescued by Travus. He felt her growing unease in the days leading up to the summoning of Molag Bal, to her transformation into a vampire. Felt the pain and degradation of her offering, and the fire in her blood as she became a Daughter of Coldharbour.

Serana saw, heard, and felt him screaming in rage as an adolescent Ketar hammered on the same dummy he'd practiced with as a kid, his anger fueling his strikes to the point where he punched it so hard it broke in half, splinters flying everywhere and a few imbedding themselves in his torn knuckles. Ketar felt her tension and stress at her parents arguing in the background, repeated events making this feeling grow more and more until, in a fit of rage, she telekinetically crushed a resurrected corpse with a clench of her fist. Nearly broke at her sorrow as she cried herself to sleep after one of their fights. Serana experienced the exact same thing when he watched his home being burned by the Thalmor, the survivors scattered across Tamriel.

Ketar glimpsed the steady deterioration of Harkon's mind, and how it turned Valerica and her daughter bitter. Serana felt him scream when Niel knocked him out and sent him off while he stayed behind to die; the grief when he found the man's file in the Thalmor embassy. A thousand thoughts and feelings and memories flashed through their minds as their narratives unfolded. Serana's fight to retain her soul in the middle of her parents' madness. Ketar's battle to regain his humanity after the massacre of the Silent Moons bandits. Valerica's decision to seal Serana away in Dimhollow. Ketar's disastrous duel with Alduin on the Throat of the World.

He felt the abandonment and despair she bore when her mother sealed her away in the crypt, felt a tear slide down her cheek as she closed her eyes for a thousand years. She felt his conflicting regret and satisfaction as he lay dying on the Throat of the World; regret at not having more time, satisfied that he had lived long enough to save Lydia. There was so much pain, so much grief, so much darkness in both their lives; almost too much to bear. And then…

Ketar used his blood to discover the secret of Dimhollow Crypt, pulled a lever to unseal the coffin in its heart.

Serana opened her eyes for the first time in ages.

And all at once, they became one.

Every thought and emotion they'd had at their first meeting, every pain, every regret, every scar they'd carried into the start of their friendship; laid bare. The long stare as they looked into each other's eyes for the first time morphed into a vision of Ketar falling to Nirn from Vedsosvith's talons. The swarm of bats that coalesced into Serana's transformed body, her sinewy arms going around his fading form. The next time they found each other face-to-face like that, in Breezehome, when he'd wanted to see all of her and accepted everything she was. The laughs and banter they shared on the road. The grief and relief after Vingalmo's assault. The love and care as she sang to him.

The first time he ever said, "I love you." The first time she said it back. His proposal at sunset, on the deck of the _Northern Maiden_. Their first kiss as husband and wife. Every single memory they'd shared, leading up to this moment, flew by in a torrent of images and emotions so powerful they could never hope to handle them alone.

So they didn't.

They took it on together, their minds anchored to each other as solidly as the bedrock beneath their home. And as the link slowly started to fade, their minds more presently aware of their physical bodies, their panting breaths reached each other like the soft breeze that tosses a calm sea. Their arms and legs tangled together, eyes closed and bodies as close as physically possible as they held each other in the aftermath. So out of breath were they that both could only chorus a few words, paltry in sound but made to mean so much more by the experience they had just shared.

"I love you."

…

It was some time later that they finally managed to separate, both completely winded and red with exertion as they stared at the ceiling.

"That was," Sera panted, "that was…"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I think…you might've…spoiled me."

She couldn't help but laugh at that, her hand reaching out to the side to grasp his.

"I mean…how many…get it like that…for their first time?"

"I admit…you have a point." Serana grinned and rolled over to drape an arm over his sweaty chest. She released a few labored breaths and nuzzled his shoulder. "Would you believe me if I said that was my first too?"

Ketar stared at her for a second before breaking out into laughter. "No! Not in a million years." He grinned. "I think you're forgetting I was just in your head."

Her face fell. "Well…yeah, but…I actually meant with the, you know, mind-meld thing."

" _Oh_. Yeah…that requires a lot of trust, right?"

She nodded, frowning into his shoulder. "If it's any consolation…you're definitely the _best_ I've ever had."

Ketar threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up to lie on his chest so he could see her better. "Hey."

She looked up at him.

"I don't blame you for that. I can't. After all…" he smiled warmly, "you lived lifetimes before you ever met me."

Her raven eyebrows shot upward, a smirk quirking her lips. "Well now… _someone's_ feeling smug."

He grinned and laid back on his hands. "When a centuries-old vampire who's had who knows how many lovers tells you that you were her best on your _first time_ …that tends to happen."

Serana laughed and hugged him close, her ear pressed over his rapidly beating heart. Her fingers gently stroked his chest as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Speaking of first times…wanna go again?"

His eyes widened. "You mean like _that_?" He huffed and shook his head. "No way. I think having my mind completely blown once is enough for one night."

Her hands pushed her up to straddle his chest, their faces close as a devious smile came to her face. "If I have my way, that won't be the _only_ thing getting blown tonight."

Ketar stared at her in confusion until she started kissing her way down his chest. "Oh… _ohh_ …"

…

About two hours and three more rounds later (entirely thanks to Dragonborn and vampire stamina), the newlyweds lay against each other, panting hard at their exertions and just listening to each other breathe. After a while, Serana managed to look up at him, her eyes widening a second before she broke out into laughter.

He blinked several times. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Her head shook as she was unable to suppress her grin. One hand came up to point behind him as she chuckled and said, "We broke the headboard."

Ketar blinked again, craning his neck to see that the mahogany headboard of his bed had been cracked right down the center, noticeable dents in the shape of hands on either side of the rupture. A second of observation passed before they both erupted into warm laughter, giddy and half-hysterical in the aftermath of the incredible day and night they'd shared. One of many to come, they hoped. After everything they'd just experienced together, with their ebony and mithril rings sitting on the nearby nightstand, that future was now more than just hope.

It was a reality, _their_ reality, a reality solidified by the steady beat of their hearts, and the warmth they shared as they laughed themselves to sleep. A whisper-quiet, "I love you," was exhaled by both of them as they held each other, with no more barriers or restraints between them.

They were one, at long last, and didn't pull apart once until long after dawn.

* * *

AN: Wow. Another really long-ass chapter—and definitely the closest I will _ever_ get to writing a sex scene. With the exception of necessarily graphic violence in a select few of my planned stories, I never intend to earn an M rating on this site, and I honestly don't think this chapter counts.

Holy crap I have wanted to write this for a long time, just like chapter 12, and what do you know? It turned out almost as long. How about that? Really though, this arc deserved such a long conclusion, I think, and I would've felt horrible leaving you guys hanging at the chapter's halfway point.

A lot happened on Ketar and Serana's wedding night, and I'd really like to give you guys the chance to pick it apart, so I'll just leave my comments at that for now. Have fuuuuuun.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

V for Vendetta – Evey Reborn: start-1:12—Brynjolf's mercy and offer of reconciliation, 1:12-1:55—Ketar's offer/explaining Sovngarde, 1:55-2:28—Dirge's choice/"Why have enemies…", 2:28-3:16—Balgruuf's pronouncement/"I love you", 3:16-end—first kiss/Zhanikan overwhelmed/thunderous applause

MISSIO – Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea: laying back/mind meld/first time/"I love you"


	17. The Battle of Skuldafn

Unbeknownst to Skyrim's most recently consummated married couple, there were a few…witnesses to the end of their wedding night. Nine, to be exact. They were distant observers, but no less invested in what they were seeing—the word "invested" being used quite literally in this case. The moment the last pants of the night sounded through the master bedroom of Breezehome, three of these observers turned to the other six, one bearing an ear-to-ear grin while the others were more subdued in their triumph.

"I told you he'd wait," said the grinning one. "You know what happens now."

"You don't have to look so smug," protested one of the six, a woman clad in hooded robes with a cross hanging over her chest.

"Oh, but this was your idea, and it's backfired _so_ wonderfully."

"What would you even _spend_ it on?" asked another of the six, with a carved anvil hanging from his neck.

"That's hardly the point," answered a second of the three, with a sword in his hand and a snake curled around his neck like a scarf.

"Indeed," added the third of the three, "it's the principle of the matter." This one was clad in robes with a red octagram stitched into his cloak.

"Come on," said the first. "Fork it over."

The other six grumbled and reluctantly reached into the folds of their clothing to dump heavy pouches of assorted currency into the hands of the three. They made a show of weighing their prizes to make sure the loot was distributed evenly, the grinning one never once thinning his smile.

The hooded woman crossed her arms at him. "I get that you're happy about winning our wager, but could you show at least a _little_ restraint in your gloating?"

He sighed and shook his head slowly. "Mara, this is not what gloating looks like." His smile slimmed a bit as he looked back into the window of time stretched out before him. "This is what a proud father looks like."

…

Now, Ketar would have liked to say that the morning after his wedding, he woke up feeling like a million Septims, the sweet smell of his wife's hair wafting into his nostrils while he savored the warm softness of her form draped over his. The truth was, he was woken up when his body decided he needed to get up and empty his bladder. He had all of three seconds fully awake before he hurriedly disentangled himself and sped to the washroom. Or, tried to, anyway. A pair of nearly-identical groans came from separate people, for two very different reasons. One because compared to the veritable furnace she'd been lying on, the mattress was ice-cold; the other because, well…

 _I have never been this sore…ever…in my life._

That said, the ever-insistent nagging of his overfilled bladder forced his shaky limbs to move and drag him over to the toilet next door. A few blurry minutes later, he stumbled back into the bedroom, realizing for the first time that he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing—and was about to crawl back in bed with an equally-naked woman. And despite the ever-present soreness of the previous night's…after-party activities, he immediately felt his face and entire body heat up. That only got worse when his groaning bride rolled over in bed and rubbed her eyes to clear the cobwebs, then fixed her gaze on him unblinkingly. It didn't help that the covers had fallen off her partway during the motion, leaving her upper assets completely exposed.

Or that her eyebrows were hiking upward at about the same rate as his—

"Well," she said, interrupting his ever-embarrassing train of thought with a smirk, "good morning to you too."

Ketar cleared his throat loudly, blinking fast and looking everywhere but at her.

"…it's okay to look, you know."

"I-I know, it's just…out of context, it still feels…"

"Awkward?"

A sheepish nod.

"Hmm…well…I might have a solution for that."

"Huh?"

His eyes widened, and he started burning up even more when she gathered up the covers and wrapped herself in them just enough that they'd stay when she stood up and climbed down off the bed. He was practically frozen in place until she was standing right in front of him, a devious smile tugging at her lips.

And then she let the blanket fall away.

"Now," Serana lilted, "take a good…long…look."

He gulped.

She smirked and reached out to take his hands, moving them to her hips first, and then everywhere else. "This—and this—and these…"

His tomato face was only getting worse.

"…this too… _all_ yours."

"If your plan is to get me to stop being embarrassed, it's not working."

Serana grinned toothily. "Oh, I gave up on _that_ a long time ago. Besides, flustered is a _great_ look on you. Awkward…not so much."

He huffed a small laugh. "Point taken."

Her grin faded to a devious smirk as she chewed her lower lip, hunger in her eyes. "Oh, and by the way—"

He outright squeaked when she grabbed his ass with both hands and held it firmly.

"— _this_ is all _mine_."

He could only nod and hum, "Mhm."

"A quick peek by another woman is fine—that's art appreciation—but if anyone's eyes linger too long…" her fangs flashed in a predatory smile, "I'll have to lay claim to what's mine. Just—like—this."

She made her point by squeezing him over and over again, making him blush even worse.

"I uh…I think I get what you're saying," he stammered.

Serana chuckled and threw her arms around his neck, pecking his lips. "You're so cute sometimes."

He smiled and kissed her nose. "Thank you. I try."

She nuzzled his cheek a bit. "You don't have to try so hard, Kay. You already won me, remember?"

"Yeah…but I'll never stop. You're worth fighting for."

Her eyes slipped shut as she squeezed him tight, taking a few steps back and bringing him with her.

"W-What are you—"

"Can't let you stand there all stiff and unattended, can I?"

"I'm still so sore…"

"The only way you get used to it is through practice," she sang, twirling and pushing him onto his back.

"B-But—"

"No buts," Serana interrupted with a finger on his lips, "unless it's yours in my hands." She frowned a little as she straddled his hips. "Why, am I less appealing during the day?"

Ketar's eyes widened in alarm. "What? No, that's not it at all."

She grinned. "Good." And then she leaned down and captured his lips, over and over.

"Sera, are you sure—"

"I've been waiting a thousand years, Kay," she whispered throatily, "and you've been waiting all your life. I think making up for lost time is an _excellent_ idea."

"But—"

"What did I say? No buts."

"Huh…mmm…yes ma'am."

…

"So…that night in Skaal Village…when you went all…blood rage…"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"You were tryin' to…lay claim?"

A breathless chuckle. "Yeah, pretty much. But I didn't have the right. Not after everything I'd put you through."

"Hey…none of that, okay?"

"I know. It's over, no need to dwell."

"Mhm…exactly." Ketar rolled over to spoon her glistening body, his head snuggled on her shoulder. "Hmm…wish we could stay like this."

She huffed. "And why not?"

"Don't get me wrong; I don't plan on getting up anytime soon. I just…" he sighed, "I think I've waited long enough to bear my eldest brother goodbye."

Serana frowned and turned her head to face him, holding his arms. "Yeah…I get it. I just wish…I wish…"

"I know," he said softly, kissing her earlobe. "But don't worry. We'll have a proper honeymoon when this is all over." He chuckled. "And then you can work on making me into a cherry tomato twenty-four seven."

Serana closed her eyes and laughed heartily, a surge of warmth permeating her chest as she stared up into his deep blue eyes. "I love you. Hope you know that."

His gaze warmed. "After what I felt last night…what I saw…I don't think I can ever _not_ know."

Her smile faded a bit. "That was…more difficult than I'd thought it would be."

"Yeah."

They were silent a while.

"I don't regret it for a second."

She smiled and shook her head. "Me neither. And not just because you instantly knew _exactly_ what I liked either."

He laughed and nuzzled her hair.

"I…I love you."

Ketar kissed her soundly, his fingers tangling in her tousled raven hair. Their lips parted with a quiet smack, his breath heavy and voice husky. "I love you too."

…

A pair of vibrant green eyes slowly drifted open, their owner humming contentedly as she debated the merits of waking up or staying in bed. The sight beyond her eyelids decided for her when she saw a head of long red hair bent over a small writing desk in their room in the Bannered Mare. His quill scribbled away quietly, what little she could see of his features pinched in concentration. That concentration failed when she softly groaned and pushed herself to sit upright in the bed.

Brynjolf turned his head to face her, his lips tugging with a smile as he laid the quill down and moved to sit at her side. "How ya feelin', lass?"

She blinked slowly and threaded her fingers with his offered hand. "Good. I'm…" another blink and glance down at herself, "still clothed."

He stared at her for a second before chuckling. "Aye. Forget a few things, did you?"

Lydia frowned and looked off to the side, trying to remember the previous night. "You said…something about…"

"'It's not what I want from you,' I believe were my exact words." Brynjolf smiled sadly. "As a thief, I've boosted gold and jewels aplenty, stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I've taken…so much for myself and my guild." He slid off the bed to kneel at her side. "This isn't about what I can take, Lydia. This is about what I can give to you…everything I can give you."

Lydia sniffled and wiped a hand over her moist eyes. "That woman you spoke of, the night you met Serana…the one you said you had your eye on…"

"That was you, lass," he answered quietly. "The strongest, craziest woman I've ever known."

She gave him a watery laugh. "I'm sorry for being such a crying mess lately."

"Hey." He thumbed her cheek, wiping away her tears and cupping the side of her face. "You don't have to be strong all the time, all right? Especially not when you're with me. I never want you to be afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, not while I'm around. I want to take care of you, Lydia." His grip on her hand tightened. "I've…wanted it more than anything I've ever laid my eyes on, almost as long as I've known you."

Her eyes widened. "You…you've been holding this in for that long?"

He sighed and nodded.

"H-How could you stand it and not give up? Watching me…how could you just…be there, all the time, and not—"

"It was never about what I could get, remember? Being in your life was enough for me. I only ever took your money because you loved to gamble, and I didn't want you to waste your coin on a subpar opponent who didn't value the woman behind the cards." Another sigh. "And contrary to what you may believe, I never once cheated. I just know your tells better than anyone…even Ketar."

Lydia's lips pursed, her gaze averted. "Yeah…I know. I was just so…petty."

He huffed a laugh. "We all have our moments, lass." He cleared his throat and stood up, moving back to the writing desk. "Speaking of your money, it should be just about transferred."

"Bryn, you really don't have to go to the trouble—"

"Nonsense. This was always my intention." He smiled and picked up the parchment he'd been scribbling on. "That's why I wrote this."

Lydia gingerly took the paper from his grasp and read its contents with a careful eye. Her eyes were double-wide by the time she finished. "This is…this is joint ownership—"

"Of an inter-Hold merchant guild. I've already used my shop in Riften with profits from the Flagon to open a charter there. With your permission, and a deal I struck with Mallus, you'll be taking over the supply and brewing of Honningbrew Meadery, while Mallus handles sales and advertising. Once you sign this charter, you'll be a member of my guild, entitled to a share in the wealth and, in time, help from some powerful economic allies should your business ever run into money troubles. It's still in its infancy, but with how I've invested your coin over the years, you should have quite the cushion to fall back on should things go awry."

She stared at the document openmouthed, then at him. "You—how—what?"

Brynjolf chuckled and sat next to her, his arms around her shoulders and a gentle kiss pressed to the crown of her head. "You've handled Ketar's finances for years, as well as the planning for the wedding—and I know Sam's budget was a _lot_ bigger than the one you decided on. You've got a sense for business I've rarely encountered," he laughed, "and a love for alcohol that rivals my own. I figured putting you in charge of a brewery was just a good investment." He smiled warmly. "And having you in the guild will give us even more reason to see each other."

Lydia couldn't take her eyes off him, her lips parted slightly. "This is…you're…"

A searing heat quickly built in her chest as she rolled up the document and tossed it onto the nightstand. Brynjolf arched a questioning eyebrow at her and quickly got his answer when she yanked him onto the mattress and flipped him over her shoulder to straddle his chest.

"Uh, lass, this isn't what I'm—"

"Oh, but it's what _I'm_ after…" she leaned over him, hands on his chest and her lips inches from his, "and this is about what _I_ can give you…" kiss, "you wonderful," kiss, "wonderful man."

Brynjolf cleared his throat and bit his lower lip. "Well then, in that case…" he smirked, "I'm too polite to refuse my lady's request."

Lydia grinned. "Good man."

…

It was just after midday when Serana and Ketar finally went outside, in wrinkled clothes they couldn't be bothered to smooth out. They stopped short as soon as they entered the backyard of their home, staring blankly at the two figures currently squatting there. Or, well, practicing, by the looks of it. It took Ketar a second to spot the third person present, seeing as how she was off to the side sitting on a tree stump.

"Excellent striking technique, Agmaer. Your strikes are getting much more precise."

Agmaer grinned at Delphine's complement and sent a laugh her way. "Does that mean I can start with my axe now?"

"Not if you can't keep your focus."

Her point was made when his opponent, Brelyna, rushed forward with a katana and took a downward swipe at his shoulder, deflected away just in time. He was still off-balance, though, and found himself laid out on his back when the Dunmer girl spun and kicked his legs out from under him. The point of her sword was leveled at his throat a moment later. He sighed and dropped his wakizashi, conceding defeat. She helped him up with one hand while the other underhandedly held her katana, the pair exchanging a smile.

"Not bad," Delphine conceded as she pushed herself off the stump, "but you both have a long way to go before you're worthy of being called Blades."

They bowed to her, all three seeming to notice their audience once their conversation was concluded.

"Serana, Ketar!" Agmaer called with a smile. "Good morning! Or, afternoon, I guess."

"Hey," Serana returned with a wave.

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "Is…there a reason why you three picked my backyard for your afternoon regimen? I mean, I'm sure the Companions would've been happy to host you."

Brelyna's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh no. We didn't wake you, did we?"

Serana chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that. Trust me, after the night we had, I doubt a dragon attack could've woken us."

Agmaer and Brelyna blushed furiously, while Delphine just chuckled.

"So you've finally been deflowered," said the Blade to Ketar. "About time."

He blinked and pursed his lips. "Wait a minute…please tell me you weren't betting on my virginity too."

"Too?" asked Serana. "Who else is—"

He groaned. "Long story. It involves my Aedric relatives."

Her raven eyebrows shot skyward.

Delphine just laughed. "No, I wasn't betting on it, but anyone can see how tightly-wound you keep yourself. Good to see you blow off some steam."

Serana smirked teasingly. "That's not the only thing he bl—"

Ketar cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off. "Well then, glad you all had a good night. Have any of you seen Lydia or Brynjolf?"

"Not recently," Brelyna replied, "but we did see them heading toward the Bannered Mare last night."

"Thanks. I guess it's as good a place as any to start looking."

Serana followed at his heels as he moved off toward the market district. "And why are we looking for them? If the looks on their faces were anything to go on, I don't think we want to go knocking on their door."

He snorted. "Maybe so, but I need some things taken care of, and they're the ones I trust the most."

She frowned. "Taken care of? And you can't handle it yourself?"

"…"

"Right. Alduin."

Ketar glanced her way and nodded. "I want to go check up on Odahviing and get started on reaching Sovngarde immediately. I _would've_ done it after coming back from Solstheim, but…" He smirked. "I needed to get some…distractions taken care of first."

She grinned and kissed his neck, gently nipping his skin with her fangs.

He almost let out a very undignified squeak, groaning in exasperation when she kept kissing all over his face. "I'm never gonna get anything done again, am I?"

"Nope. Especially not after you've taken care of that fascist brother of yours."

"Which one?"

"Hm. Good point. Still, I think Miraak's pretty well handled, after you dropped that bomb on him coming home."

"Here's hoping. If nothing else, I've bought myself time to figure out how to handle him if he does manage to break free."

She frowned. "You mean you don't already have a plan?"

He chewed his lower lip. "Well, I've seen his memories, so I know how he fights. I'm confident I can take him on in a straight-up duel. It's his ability to bend the will of others that worries me most. That's the one thing in which I can't match him. At least…not entirely."

"You'll figure it out. As usual."

Ketar smiled and pecked her forehead. "Thanks, love."

She snuggled into his side, his arm around her shoulders as they strode into the Bannered Mare. He asked the barkeep if they'd seen Lydia recently, and she pointed a slender finger at a second-story door. A pronounced sigh came from Ketar's throat as he braced himself and knocked on the door, having learned his lesson after the…incident in Windstad Manor a few months back.

"Lydia?" he called. "Brynjolf? Oi, you two in there?"

"Just a minute," he heard her sing.

His ears managed to catch their chuckles on the other side of the door moments before a tousled Lydia opened it with an ear-to-ear grin on her face. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Ketar sighed loudly.

"Do I even _want_ to know?" he asked, wiping a hand over his face.

"Oh come on," she protested. "Not like you have room to judge anymore."

"Except I'm already married."

She waved dismissively and opened the door the rest of the way, permitting the newlyweds inside. "Semantics. Nitpicking."

"Truth."

Brynjolf chuckled and shook his head as he stood up, thankfully fully clothed. "Go easy on her, lad. It's been a great morning."

He snorted. "Oh, I'll _bet_ it has."

"Bryn gave me co-ownership of Honningbrew Meadery," Lydia exclaimed excitedly.

Ketar's eyebrows shot upward. "He—what?" He looked to Brynjolf, then back to a grinning Lydia. "Seriously?" He laughed. "That's…fantastic. I mean, Mallus does an okay job and all, but knowing you'll be there…" his eyes narrowed, "wait a minute. Bryn? Did you consider the possibility that she might sample her own product?"

"Oh, I'm _counting_ on it," he replied with a smirk. "After all, the place needs someone for quality control, eh? Considering how developed her palette is, it'll save the place a ton of coin from having to hire a professional taster."

"Uh huh." Ketar frowned at Lydia. "Or feed her addiction even more."

Lydia smiled warmly. "Relax, Kay. I only needed to drown myself in drink because I didn't know how to breathe." She sent an adoring look at Brynjolf. "That's something he's…helping me with."

Ketar looked between them several times, catching Serana restraining laughter at his side. A pronounced sigh came from his throat as he shook his head at the ground, a satisfied smirk eventually rising to his lips. "About time." His gaze hardened and snapped to Brynjolf. "I expect you to treat her with the utmost respect, even more than you did before. If I find out you've dishonored her in any way…" his eyes narrowed, "then our friendship is over, and you're as good as dead."

Brynjolf laughed nervously, hands help up in surrender. "Understood."

Lydia smacked his chest. "Stop bullying him!"

Ketar smiled sweetly. "Lydia, as your younger, more attractive brother, I would be remiss if I didn't look out for your well-being with a few…preemptive warnings."

"More attractive?" she asked incredulously. "Take that back!"

"Nope," Serana interjected. "He's _definitely_ more attractive than you."

Lydia snorted. "You _have_ to say that."

She shrugged. "Doesn't make me wrong."

The housecarl looked between the grinning newlyweds with a pout, noting Brynjolf trying to hide his amusement. She eventually gave up and huffed. "I hate you all."

…

"So, it's just going to be the two of you?"

"And Odahviing, at least for the ride over." Ketar nodded to Serana. "I'll probably call in Durnehviir for a little extra support when the time comes. We don't know what we'll be facing out there."

Lydia nodded slowly. "Makes sense." She huffed. "Sucks that we can't come with. I mean, couldn't you summon Durnehviir before you go and have us follow on his back?"

Ketar's head shook. "Too risky. The trip to Skuldafn is quite the distance, and I don't want to risk him being forced back to the Soul Cairn while you're on his back."

"Eh, I guess I can understand that."

Serana gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Wait…then why did you have him carry us and Frea to Saering's Watch?"

"Because the mountain peak was in sight, and I dislike having to hoof it in subzero temperatures," he answered with a small pout.

She snorted and crossed her arms. "Wimp."

"Princess."

She arched an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like an insult to me."

"Think about it. It will."

Serana followed his advice for a few seconds before giving up with a shrug. "Anyway, I'd best get my armor ready. We're going all-in."

Ketar frowned and looked off to the side. "That reminds me…"

Brynjolf blinked at him. "What?"

A smile tugged at his lips for just a moment before he shook his head and started walking off. "Nothing. I just remembered something." He waved to them as he moved toward the alchemist's room he kept on the second floor of Breezehome. "I'll be right back."

Serana frowned, but didn't question him as she moved off to get her armor, assembling it piece by piece and stopping short when she realized—she hadn't seen her mother today. Half-terrified at what she might hear on the other end, she reluctantly put a hand to her head and closed her eyes, opening the telepathic connection she had with Valerica.

 _"Mother? Mother, are you awake?"_

A few moments of silence passed before she finally got an answer. _"Hm…yes, unfortunately."_

Serana smirked. _"Still not used to waking up during the day, are you?"_

 _"Ugh, this is why I retired."_

 _"You say after matchmaking Agmaer and Brelyna with a quest to recover a cursed artifact."_

 _"That's what old retired women do: influence the younger generations and make sure they don't do anything stupid."_

Serana snorted. _"Yeah, well, anyway—I thought you'd want to know we plan on leaving for Skuldafn tonight, right around sunset so it'll be dark by the time we get there."_

 _"Already? You don't want to enjoy the married life a little longer?"_

A sigh. _"I wish we could, but Ketar is dead set on putting the problem of Alduin to rest once and for all. That and I don't think he wants to keep Odahviing cooped up any longer than he has to be…for both his sake and the Jarl's."_

Valerica chuckled. _"I did see him sending the dragon a few choice glares last night. Very well. I'll be there to see you off."_

 _"Sure you don't want to come with? I mean, with your wings, you'd probably be fast enough to keep up."_

 _"As I said, dearest, I'm retired."_

 _"Mother, please. You've never been one to stay on the sidelines."_

 _"Things change, Serana."_

 _"Uh huh. Okay. I give it two weeks before you're off on another adventure…probably ruining some other young couple's lives with an insane experience that brings them together."_

 _"Oh shush. Brelyna and Agmaer are adorable together and you know it."_

 _"…yeah, you have a point."_

 _"So…how was it?"_

Sera blinked. _"How was what?"_

 _"Oh, you know…deflowering your husband?"_

 _"Um…it was…"_ she bit her lower lip, blushing at the memories of last night, _"hmm…"_

 _"That good? I find that…unlikely for a virgin."_

 _"Well, to be fair, I did coach him through a great deal…in a manner of speaking."_

 _"…explain."_

 _"We sort of…melded."_

 _"…"_

 _"Mother?"_

 _"Do you both realize how dangerous that was?"_

A sigh. _"Yes, I told him right before we tried, and he had this…look on his face. Like I was some kind of…queen. Right before he said he trusted me. But…it was more than that; it was like…"_

 _"Like you were the most precious thing in the world."_

 _"…yes."_

Serana felt a stab of heartache flow from Valerica's end of the bond. _"Then, my dearest daughter…you chose wisely."_

She couldn't help but frown a bit. _"Mother, are you all right?"_

 _"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine."_

Serana's eyes narrowed suspiciously. _"Where are you right now?"_

 _"…"_

 _"Mother?"_

 _"I'll be there to see you off,"_ sent the matron in a dismissive tone.

 _"…you're in Jorrvaskr, aren't you?"_

 _"I'll_ see _you tonight."_

Serana chuckled and shook her head as the link was abruptly cut, the final piece of her armor now in place. She'd debated putting on the armor's standard short cape so as not to inhibit her movement, but figured that since they were all the way up in the mountains, the longer version she usually wore would be of more help should she suffer a fall. With her cloak smoothed out and affixed with its customary brooch, the final piece of her ensemble awaited on the nightstand of her bed: the ebony wedding band Ketar had hand-crafted for her. She held it in the palm of her hand, debating whether or not to leave it behind, considering she had her armored gauntlets on.

A smirk adorned her lips as she thought about it more.

 _Knowing Ketar, this thing is probably enchanted a thousand ways from Sundas. Still, it won't fit on my hand…_

She compromised by using a nearby silver chain to affix it to her neck. As she fixed and fluffed her hair, braiding it up to stay out of her way, she made her way out the door and back down the stairs, noting that the door to the alchemist's chamber was still closed. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw Lydia and Brynjolf at the bottom of the steps, talking alone.

"Sheesh, he still hasn't come out yet?" she asked them.

She barely got a shake of the head in response before the door to the chamber creaked open, and his steps echoed throughout the suddenly-silent house. Serana's eyes widened as far as they could go, and her jaw steadily dropped further and further to the floor at the sight of him. Ketar had abandoned his usual black leather Guildmaster attire for a suit of armor Serana had never seen before. He was clad from the neck down in gleaming, silvery-white armor the likes of which she hadn't seen since meeting Gelebor.

It was clearly of Falmer design, with various dark patterning carved into its surface, but unlike the armor Gelebor and his brother had worn, it left no gaps or spaces for enemy weapons to exploit. Interlocking plates of that silver metal adorned his torso, legs, shoulders, and arms; including his hands, which were encased in skintight gloves overlaid with plated gauntlets. In the places left uncovered by Gelebor's lighter armor—namely the upper arms and every visible joint—was a second skin of chainmail, made of what looked to be the same material as the plates. Hanging on the back of his neck, below his collar, was a metal coif of that same mail.

On his right middle finger sat his silver-sapphire ring, the plates of the glove removed to allow it to sit comfortably, and the same was true of his left hand, which sported his wedding ring. Her eyes widened when she saw it and realized—the armor and that ring were made of the exact same material. Tucked under his right arm was a strange-looking piece of armor, strange in that it wasn't so much armor as an armored diadem. A square-cut ruby sat in its center, and on either side were diagonal crests with a contoured skullcap linking them, the whole thing comprised of the same metal as the rest of the armor. His flowing black cloak completed the ensemble, its enchanted fabric pooling on the steps behind him as he descended to ground level.

Ketar noticed them all staring, her especially, and gave her a sheepish smile and shrug. "So…how do I look?"

Serana didn't even have time to think before her lips moved of their own accord, voice barely above a whisper. "Like a king."

The room was completely silent for a while before Lydia cleared her throat and spoke up with a shrug. "Well, I was gonna say, 'like a badass,' but I guess that works too."

And like that, the spell was broken, and they all started laughing, Serana approaching her husband and putting a hand on his armored chest. "Where did you _get_ this?"

He smiled. "It was a wedding gift from Gelebor." He grimaced a bit. "To be honest, I'm not really sure it's my style."

Sera bit her lower lip, trying to fight off the blush and craving threatening to take her over and make her drag him back up those stairs… "Um…you…and I…hmm…"

The craving was defeated, the blush was not, and Ketar noticed. "You all right there, love?"

She met his gaze with a ravenous look that made his eyes widen in mild alarm. "When this is over, we're going back in that room, and we're not coming out for a week. I want my honeymoon, dammit, and you're not gonna keep teasing me with these stupidly sexy suits without reprisal."

"…huh?"

Her head shook as she forced herself to turn away. "Nothing, just…it suits you, even if you don't like it."

"I'll…take your word on it."

Serana cleared her throat and strapped on her customary weapons, making sure her perfect gem was in its slot at her belt. "I'll meet you in Dragonsreach. Taking a cold bath is out of the question right now, so I think I'll just…put some distance between us."

"O-Okay. See you—"

The door closed before she could do something that would end in shredded clothes and further delays.

…

"—later," Ketar finished dumbly. He turned to the remaining two with a questioning eyebrow. "What's up with her?"

Brynjolf smirked as he took Lydia's hand. "She's attracted to power, lad. Coming down those steps looking like that…" his head shook slowly, a grin splitting his face, "I'm surprised she didn't throw us out and drag you back into bed."

Ketar blinked hard and stared at the door, a blush steadily staining his cheeks. "Oh."

"You better take care of business and hurry back," Lydia added, standing up. "I get the feeling that last night was like unstopping a ruptured dam where her libido is concerned."

"…I'm really never gonna get anything done again, am I?"

"Nope," the other two answered in chorus.

He groaned and facepalmed with his empty hand, sobering when he was reminded of something he'd been considering all week. "Listen, you guys…I need you to do something for me. Serana can't know."

They exchanged a concerned look, but nodded in acquiescence.

Ketar released a long breath. "Okay, now listen carefully…"

…

Serana reached Dragonsreach way too soon, as evidenced by her impatient pacing across the surprisingly clean second floor of the Jarl's hall. The repeated clinking of her armored steps apparently annoyed the room's much larger occupant, because he snorted loudly and shot her a glare after a few minutes.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm just…worried about what comes next. Any idea what Alduin's forces will look like?"

Odahviing thought for a moment. "Many of his most loyal dragons will be there, and likely a small army of Draugr as well. Skuldafn also served as the seat of a Dragon Priest at one point, so do not be surprised if you find one standing in your way."

Serana frowned. "Great." And then she resumed pacing. "So why aren't you sticking around to fight again?"

The dragon hummed thoughtfully. "It is…difficult to express to one who is not _dovah_."

Her eyes narrowed and arms crossed. "Try me."

He sighed. "This is his battle. As two of Akatosh's most powerful descendants, Ketar and Alduin are destined to battle for superiority. If Ketar is meant to triumph, he must do so on the power of his _Thu'um_ , without interference."

"Then why are you allowing me to come?"

Odahviing hummed and grunted, seeming perplexed at something. " _Pogaan krosis_. Perhaps I did not convey the proper meaning. _Thu'um_ , in our tongue, means more than simply 'Voice,' or 'Shout.' The _Thu'um_ of a _dovah_ is the outward manifestation of their inner strength. It is the core of their identity, at once personality and power—their soul, if you will. Alduin, as the firstborn of Akatosh, was believed to have the strongest _Thu'um_ since the beginning of time. However, as the years have passed, and he has become more and more self-absorbed, that _Thu'um_ has waned in both sharpness and quality.

"That is not to say he has grown less powerful, for if that were the case, many more would have challenged his reign. What this means is that his Voice has changed to reflect the quality of his soul: black and corrupt, tainted by bitterness and a vile hatred for all mortals. It is no longer the shining aurora by which the _dov_ were led to glory. As the _Dovahkiin_ showed me firsthand, he has assimilated the rough texture and clumsy strokes of _joor'jul_ —mortal man—and the shining hues of the _dovahhe_ , in essence forming an entirely new _Thu'um_ of his own creation. This is intriguing to me…hm…perhaps that is not the right word. _Boziik'brit_ —starkly beautiful, like the first snowfall of winter, or—"

"A sunset," she interrupted softly.

Odahviing nodded. "Precisely. That is something _zu'zeymahhe_ —my brothers—are no longer accustomed to seeing. Like Alduin, they have been embittered by our defeat at the hand of mankind and seeming abandonment at the hands of Akatosh." A sigh. "And, I admit, I too fell prey to this, for a time. To see this new _Thu'um_ firsthand…it is a more wondrous thing than you can understand." He frowned. "However, we have been deceived by the glimmer of such things in the past, and as a result, most of my kind still grudgingly holds loyalty to the World-Eater.

"This battle will test the _Dovahkiin_ , in every way imaginable. That his _Thu'um_ is powerful enough to command the respect and love of a _nonvul'diil_ —a pure vampire—is evidence of his growth and inner might. That is why you are allowed to come, and so would the rest of his companions, if they could all fit on my back."

Serana bit her lip and nodded slowly. "I see. It's funny you say I can't understand what you mean, because…that inner strength, that immovable character of his…" a smile tugged at her lips as she fingered the wedding ring hanging from her neck, "that's exactly why I married him."

"Hm…then perhaps I judged too quickly."

"That's what conversation is for, right? To address misunderstandings and build friendships."

"Indeed. It has been some time since I have discussed such things with another who is not _dovah_. It is a…refreshing change of pace."

She smiled. "Likewise, Odahviing."

…

Valerica had already arrived by the time Ketar got to Dragonsreach with Lydia and Brynjolf in tow. She was hugging Serana and saying her final goodbyes, the two vampires and dragon turning to face him and taking in his drastically changed appearance. Valerica's eyebrows hiked upward sharply.

"I know, right?" Serana asked her mother with a grin.

Valerica hummed her agreement, her voice taking on a strange tone as she stared at him. "This one…was _born_ to be a king."

Serana giggled and made her way to plant a kiss on Ketar's cheek, her arm curling around his empty one. Ketar crooked his linked arm and led her to Odahviing's side, where the dragon bent down to permit them ascension. A voice from behind stopped them from mounting up just yet.

"Hey!"

They turned to see Agmaer, Brelyna, and Delphine striding in, the latter arrayed in her typical leather armor.

"You weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you?" asked the smiling Dunmer girl.

Serana sighed and hugged her. "Sorry. It's just been a busy day."

"Not so busy that you'd forget the party most invested in this venture," Delphine added with a cross look.

Odahviing's eyes narrowed at her, his gaze flickering to the Akaviri katana at her belt. "Blade."

She returned the small glare. "Dragon."

"Oi," said Ketar, "settle down, both of you."

He reached up to double-check that his sword was secure, eyes turning to Lydia and Brynjolf. A look passed between them, a small nod exchanged before anyone could see.

"We won't fail," Ketar said firmly, "but I don't expect Alduin and his soldiers will sit idly by while we assault their fortress. While we're gone, I'm counting on all of you to keep the people of Skyrim safe from any reprisals."

Delphine gave him a firm nod. "The Blades stand ready to serve." She glanced at her students. " _All_ of them."

Ketar arched an eyebrow at her. "Even Esbern?"

She snorted. "The old man's arthritis finally seems to have caught up to him. He rarely goes out anymore, but if the situation requires it, I'm sure he'd be willing to lend some of his spellcasting."

He smirked and shook his head slowly, letting out a long breath. "Okay…here we go."

The couple hoisted themselves onto Odahviing's neck, Serana holding Ketar's midsection firmly as they bade their companions goodbye. Irileth and Balgruuf also came to see them off, standing by the others.

"You're either the bravest person I've ever met," said the former, "or the biggest fool."

Ketar smirked, turning his attention to the Jarl. "Thanks for hosting us here…and him," he said with a pat of Odahviing's neck.

Balgruuf shook his head slowly. "You know, my life was somewhat normal before I met you."

"Do you regret your choices since?"

"Not a chance, Dragonborn. Our friendship has kept my mind at ease every day."

Ketar bowed his head in respect.

"May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm!"

Then something occurred to him, and a sly smirk tugged at his lips as he projected his voice toward Lydia. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

The housecarl arched a questioning eyebrow.

"You might have to order a new headboard."

The other eyebrow joined the first.

"Ours is kind of… _smashed_ at the moment."

Lydia snorted and crossed her arms. "Really? That headboard is made of solid carved mahogany. If you somehow managed to break _that_ , I'm surprised you didn't demolish the whole _bed_."

Ketar blinked and glanced back at Serana, who winced.

"Well," she began hesitantly, "actually…"

Kay scratched the back of his head. "Now that I think about it...it did seem a little closer to the ground than usual this morning."

Lydia stared at them blankly before shaking her head in disbelief. "Only you two…"

He grinned. "You know you love us for it."

"Ugh…yes…gods help me."

Husband and wife laughed and gave them all one last wave before Ketar turned his attention to his dragon mount.

"Let's go, Odahviing. Take us to Skuldafn."

Odahviing turned for the exit and strode out onto the balcony. " _Zok brit uth_!" he called out jubilantly. "The skies of _Keizaal_ beckon! Hold on tight, _zu'fahdonne_! A week of inactivity has made my wings restless!"

Ketar grinned teasingly at his suddenly wide-eyed wife. "Just don't overdo it, will ya? Sera here tends to have a weak stomach when it comes to dragon flight."

As if to prove his point, she screamed at the top of her lungs when Odahviing launched himself off the side and dove a brief distance before soaring back up into the air and riding the currents of wind and destiny to the battle that would decide the fate of humanity.

…

The sun was just starting to sink behind the mountains when Serana finally managed to find her stomach, or at least enough so to speak without risking a hurl over the side.

"Hey," Ketar said, "did your mom seem…weird back there, when she looked at me?"

"…how do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know…like she had something important on her mind?"

"Eh, no more than usual. Why?"

Ketar's lips pursed for a second before he shook his head. "No reason. Just the nerves before a fight, I guess."

He felt her arms snake around his midsection and hold him tightly. "We're gonna win this, Kay."

He smiled malevolently and held her hand. "I know. I pity the fools who stand in our way."

It was a sentiment Serana shared, based on the grin she gave him. He turned forward when looking back at her became uncomfortable. Just after takeoff, he'd drawn the mail coif up around his head like a metal hood, then donned the crown to keep himself from having to hold it the whole way. The whole suit was put together in a way that kept the crown perfectly secured to his head. He'd originally been concerned that Gelebor's gift would need adjusting, which would be basically impossible without compromising its structural integrity if it were as tough as he'd claimed.

The truth was, the Armor of Auriel fit him like the gloves currently adorning his hands, and he didn't know why, but that made him uneasy. He couldn't nail down why, or what enchantments the armor bore, but just _wearing_ this suit felt…it made him feel unworthy. Like he was a thief wearing a stolen ring, which was nonsense, as he kept telling himself. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that, however Serana and Valerica saw it, he was never meant to wear this suit. For now, however, it was the toughest and lightest armor he had, even compared to Nocturnal's Embrace, and he didn't intend on facing Alduin in anything less.

The fog over the mountains ahead obscured their vision, but Ketar didn't need to see a thing to feel the tense energy coming from the area ahead. He bent down a bit over Odahviing's neck, arms braced against the dragon's scales.

"We're close, aren't we?"

Odahviing grunted. "We are. The defenses at higher elevations are too tight for even me to breach, so I will have to drop you two at the bottom of the approach. This fog should give you some time to plan your attack, but it will be an uphill climb either way."

"I don't plan on making this fight subtle," Ketar said in a half-growl. "I want no doubts whatsoever when I cast Alduin from his throne."

He felt Odahviing's delighted hum pass through his body as the dragon began to descend. "Hold on, friends! I must keep up my speed to avoid their eyes!"

Ketar felt Serana's grip tighten around him as he held onto Odahviing's horns, the wind whipping past his face and forcing him to squint his eyes. Faster than he could've reacted, they approached a stony platform, the fog so thick he could barely see in front of his face, making him wonder just how Odahviing gauged his speed to stick the landing so perfectly. He leapt from the dragon's neck without hesitation, as did Serana, both turning to face their mount.

"This is far as I can take you," he said. " _Krif voth ahkrin_."

Ketar bowed his head. "Thank you, friend. I promise, your faith in me will not be in vain. One way or another, Alduin's reign ends tonight."

Odahviing returned the nod and drew himself up, flapping his wings in takeoff. "Then I shall look for your return!"

Husband and wife waved their goodbyes as Odahviing gave one last parting roar, turning to face each other after a few moments.

Ketar took a deep, long breath, slowly releasing it as the fog parted just slightly. "You ready?" he asked quietly.

"These bastards are standing between me and our honeymoon." Sera smirked and drew her basket-hilted sword. "Hell yeah I'm ready."

His eyes slipped shut with a smile. "Then let's get this party started." He grinned and drew himself up, taking in a deep breath and feeling the power inside him awaken. " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

The bright light of Masser and Secunda blared down on them and the massive stone temple before them just moments after Ketar released his Shout. The moonlight and starlight illuminated the imposing tiered form of Skuldafn, various ruined structures and arches arrayed before them on the rise to the temple proper. Oh, and a dragon backed up by about two dozen armored Draugr. A confident smile rose to Ketar's lips as the _dovah_ released a battle roar as he launched himself from the walls of Skuldafn and descended on them. A hand reached up to his collar, where the second half of his coif, a mail mask meant to cover everything below his eyes, was pooled.

Once drawn up, only his stormy blue eyes were left exposed to the elements and the weapons of the enemy. And right then, they were fixed on the summit of Skuldafn, where he would undoubtedly find Alduin's portal to Sovngarde. Everything in their way was just chaff to be torn up and cast aside. So he pulled Zephyr from his belt and together, they broke off into a run.

The dragon that came diving for them found himself tumbling into the stones behind them when Ketar released an Unrelenting Force Shout directly into his head and effectively knocked him out of the sky. The pair just kept running, Ketar releasing one ebony arrow after another into the Draugr soldiers and archers that lined the walls and steps of Skuldafn. They returned fire with their ancient bows, but for all their numbers, their speed left something to be desired, and relegated them to the effective role of clay pigeons.

The soldiers, on the other hand, whether bearing shields or just armor, made a point of dodging his volleys as the invaders closed the distance. A Voice from behind prompted Ketar to look back and see the furious grounded dragon glaring at them.

" _Yol_ —"

Ketar was about to put up a ward when Serana leapt in the way and used her perfect gem to create a mobile wall of energy.

"— _Toor-Shul_!"

Smirking, he turned back around and resumed his volleys on the Draugr as Sera blocked the firestorm from reaching them. They fought up the stairs back-to-back, a Draugr leaping for Ketar with a spear in a falling stab meant to impale the gap in his neck. He lunged to the side, the spear driving into the ground like a stake and leaving the undead vulnerable to a bow strike to the neck, followed with an ebony arrow stabbed into the side of its head. That arrow was yanked loose and fired into another archer's knee, sending the elevated undead tumbling fifty feet to be crushed against the stones.

Two arrows flew toward them, Ketar ducking side to side as Serana did the same, lunging for one of the closest soldiers and sliding under his initial swipe. Ketar whirled around and drew back three arrows at once, releasing them all toward the dragon, who was trying to take off again. The two side arrows nailed it in the joints of its wings, and the third skewered its left eye, prompting a roar of rage and agony as it lunged toward him. Ketar sprinted up the stairs, skipping three at a time as he tried to get some distance between them.

The dragon's jaws snapped shut around Zephyr's body when the Dragonborn spun toward it and held the weapon between himself and his aggressor. With one hand occupied by the bow, Ketar's other hand drew the Blade of Woe and stabbed it into the dragon's jaw, twisting it around and forcing it to release Zephyr. He rolled to the left when the dragon took another shot at him, raising his bow in a block when the wyrm's right wing swung toward him, its talon flying toward him like a bony spear.

The talon skidded off Zephyr's metal body as Ketar ducked under its arc of attack, lunging forward and sliding beneath the dragon's wing as he shoved the Blade of Woe into his enemy's side. He ran past, dragging the Blade's jagged edge through the wyrm's flesh and carving a deep gash along the length of its body. The dragon growled and snarled in pain, whipping its tail back and forth like a bludgeon and missing when Ketar leapt atop its back and planted the Blade of Woe in one of its wings' joints. He kept running along its neck and widened his stance as he dropped to a crouch on its head.

Three more arrows were drawn back, all three fired at point-blank range into the top of its skull a moment before Ketar cartwheeled off its head. All three arrows exploded into a thousand fragments, shards of ebony burying themselves in the dragon's brainpan as it let out one last roar and fell limp. He ran over to its right wing and retrieved the Blade of Woe, shifting his attention to Serana and running to catch up as the dragon decomposed and relinquished its power to him. Zephyr nailed the center of a column of advancing Draugr with an explosive arrow that engulfed all of them in flames, Serana dueling two others equipped with shields some distance off.

Her sword found a gap in one's defenses, plunging into the space between its chestplate and helmet and severing its spinal column. The blade was yanked loose in a crouching spin as the other one took a swing at her neck, her ebony sword slashing off its right leg at the knee and planting it on the ground a moment before the point of her sword impaled the Draugr in the mouth. Serana yanked the weapon loose right as Ketar rejoined her, his bow smacking two incoming arrows out of the air before he returned a plasma bolt to one of the archers. The blue sphere burnt through the undead's armor as its comrade found its head sprouting a new addition in the form of an ebony arrow.

"Push forward!" Ketar yelled, dashing behind cover to catch his breath and prepare his Voice once more. " _Dur-Neh-Viir_!"

An explosion of roiling violet energy engulfed the stairs behind and below him as Durnehviir's rotting gray form materialized from the ether. The last time the undead dragon had been summoned was during their engagement week, as a means of informing him of the impending nuptials. Ketar had briefly debated summoning him during the wedding proper before deciding that one dragon occupying the space was enough of a headache for Balgruuf. Still, he'd been overjoyed at the development, and insisted on congratulating both of them with an aerial tour of Whiterun Hold.

Serana had politely declined. Ketar had not.

The memory of that day, of the wind whipping through his hair as he soared above the clouds…it reminded him of something Odahviing had told him about the envy he would carry for all full dragons after seeing the world from their point of view. Ketar had reluctantly conceded that point after landing back at Dragonsreach. He had also taken the opportunity to inform Durnehviir of his plans to take on Alduin immediately after the wedding, and gained the dragon's pledge that he would be there in any capacity necessary to see the job done.

Thus, why Durnehviir's face split into a maniacal smile immediately upon seeing his chaotic surroundings. Ketar just gave him a silent nod and pointed to a large column of Draugr soldiers clambering down the steps of Skuldafn to meet them. Durnehviir took to the skies, Shouting a small army of undead into existence from the Soul Cairn before sweeping the column of incoming Draugr with his curious frost breath. The result was freezing the entire cluster of undead soldiers in their tracks, something Ketar took advantage of with an explosive arrow that shattered them into a thousand pieces.

Serana had one Draugr by the throat while she deflected blows from two others with her sword. She hurled the undead into her attackers, who were standing by a large drop off the side of the mountain, and finished their stumbling forms off with a jump-kick that sent all three tumbling to their deaths. Two incoming arrows were deflected with her sword, a kinetic bolt shattering the right arm of one of the remaining archers, and a chain lightning spell severely damaging the rest in the line. Ketar, for his part, was storming up the stairs and emptying his quiver at a rapid pace, acting purely on instinct at this point as they were swarmed with endless hordes of undead.

After his experience in the Temple of Miraak, he hadn't been able to look at Draugr or any of the dragon-loyal undead the same. After all, these had all been men once. Male, female, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of people they were before being doomed to this hellish existence. Truly, putting them down would be a mercy, and it was with this mindset that he set himself upon the cleansing of Alduin's undying army and the freeing of their trapped souls. As he released the remaining arrows from his quiver, one thing was for sure: Sovngarde would be crowded when he got there.

Zephyr found its way to his belt as his quiver was returned to the rift, his legs catapulting him up the steps and shoulder-first into a warhammer-toting Draugr trying to cave in Serana's head with an overhead blow. He hurled it from the side of the temple and off the mountain, spinning to his right and drawing the Blade of Woe in an underhanded deflect as Serana finished his attacker off with a beheading strike. They exchanged a look before charging back into the fray, Durnehviir roaring overhead as Ketar's _Thu'um_ led the way.

…

Right, left, right, under. Never before in Serana's life had her movements flowed more clearly or smoothly in battle. Though one might attribute that to her considerable experience, especially in recent days, she knew better. Before, from the moment she'd woken up in Dimhollow, it was like something had been weighing down her every stroke. Even after her walls had crumbled and she had admitted—to him as well as herself—just how much she loved Ketar, there had been something holding her back. Some trace of tension and unfulfillment that made her movements sluggish and undecisive.

Now, all that weight and friction was gone, seemingly transferred to the ring hanging around her neck. Just like their dance on the deck of the _Maiden_ , and their first dance as husband and wife, there were no more restraints; there was no more hesitation. And indeed, at this precise moment, they were very much dancing. The turns were their parries and deflects, the steps the strokes of their blades. A pirouette, a duck, a twirl—all around them, death claimed the trapped souls of Alduin's army, one after another sent to the mist-covered slopes of Sovngarde as the Dragonborn and his bride took pity on the dragon's slaves.

Serana was a black nightmare against the darkened backdrop of the stones and shadows of Skuldafn, her eyes burning through the darkness as much as the pale glow of the Draugr's. Ketar's armored body was a form almost too bright to look on, and he glinted beautifully from head to toe whenever his silhouette was cast in moonlight. To Serana, he looked so very much like a king— _her_ king. His cloak flapped and fluttered with every motion, the Blade of Woe carving a path through his enemies as he unleashed spells with his empty hand, setting an entire column of Draugr on fire.

He cleared a path for Durnehviir to swoop in overhead and put them out with his frost breath, the sudden contrast of extreme heat and cold severing their souls' weakened ties to their bodies. The roars of two more dragons were heard up ahead as Ketar's eyes snapped upward, a long breath exhaled from his throat while he sheathed the Blade of Woe. Dragonborn's Fury slowly left its sheath with an ominous grinding noise, both hands holding the hilt and a predatory look entering his eyes as he watched the hostile dragons' approach.

Serana found her way to a vantage point and sheathed her sword, plasma bolts readying in each of her hands and unleashing once the wyrms were in range. They twirled and arced around her spells, too distracted to see Durnehviir coming in from the side as he tackled one of them into the side of a tower. The stone structure crumbled partway, sending debris raining down as the dragons struggled and the Dragonborn charged across a bridge below them and into Skuldafn Temple proper. Serana followed on his heels, keeping one eye on the sky as Durnehviir tangled with both dragons with impeccable skill.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!" echoed back to Serana as she ran to catch up, seeing only a demolished stone door with various sigils on it and Ketar tearing through a group of Draugr beyond.

He punched one in the face with his left armored gauntlet, his sword held underhandedly as he followed that up with a flying roundhouse kick. He kept his twirling motion going with a wheel kick to the knee of another, his sword coming up and taking the first's head off with a hiss. Serana lunged forth, her dagger at the ready and plunging into the spine of one undead as Ketar finished off the last of the group. They wasted no time, charging forth at a sprint and carving a path to the summit of the temple. Eventually, they found their way back outside, to a series of stone walkways that led them to the roof.

Ketar blocked an overhead strike with his left hand on the flat of his blade, countering with a thrust-kick that sent his attacker careening off the side of the temple. Two more Draugr came down a ramp to his right, blocking his path, and he drew himself up in the familiar posture that expanded his diaphragm fully.

" _Gaan-Lah-Haas_!"

The Draugr's strength faded visibly as they collapsed to one knee, bracing themselves on their weapons. Ketar cut them all down with his first charge, his blade slicing through their rotting bodies in a passing slash on his way up. Serana leapt up the ramp, catching an incoming arrow barehanded and stabbing it into another undead to make the mistake of coming close. The archer found itself yanked from its perch when Ketar unleashed an electrostatic attraction spell, tumbling off the side of the temple. Serana ducked between two hammers and disabled their owners piece by piece with her dagger, noting that Ketar had stopped in front of a Word Wall.

Even with that mail mask over his features, there was no mistaking the surge of pure glee in his eyes as he turned back to the path forward. They resumed their onward charge, shunting aside any who dared stand in their path with ease, their attacks perfectly coordinated in a way that was almost frightening to Serana. Their whirlwind assault completely blew through Skuldafn's defenses, what little they left alive in their wake moving nowhere near fast enough to catch them. Finally, Ketar and Serana reached the very top of the temple, a large, open platform with a curious column of energy glowing at the far end.

Just one look told Serana that it was the portal to Sovngarde.

A portal that closed when a Dragon Priest at the far end retrieved a runed staff from its mountings on the column's edge. As Serana drew her sword and dagger, readying herself, Ketar looked back and up, prompting her to do the same. The roars of the dragons from earlier returned as Durnehviir fled their attacks, leading them toward Ketar and Serana. The Dragonborn glanced at the hovering Priest, the undead's right hand holding a staff that began to glow with energy, then turned back to his dragon ally.

"Durnehviir!" Ketar yelled over the howling wind. "Drop!"

The undead dragon obeyed, tucking his wings in and gliding between two of Skuldafn's towers.

" _Strun-Bah-Qo_!"

Serana's eyes widened. She remembered this Shout clearly, from the first time he'd ever tangled with a dragon, but back then, he'd only known two Words of Power. This time…

The pale light of Masser and Secunda faded from view in a matter of seconds, a torrential downpour following as the clouds overhead thickened and roiled violently. The two dragons pursuing Durnehviir quickly found themselves on the receiving end of devastating lightning strikes, as did half a dozen armored Draugr approaching from either side of the Priest. The Priest himself sent up a ward that blocked two lightning strikes from hitting him, the third impacting the space next to him. However, with all the rain pouring down, his hovering body was connected to that point of contact by a thin stream of water, causing him to feel the full effect of the strike.

Serana's jaw dropped as she took in the carnage ensuing around them, slowly turning to Ketar and seeing him standing there, body tense, with his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Kay?" she asked in concern.

"Just," he gasped in effort, "…can't control this one too well yet."

A moment later, she saw what he meant when a cluster of lightning strikes hit way too close to them for comfort. Thinking quickly, Serana pursed her lips and pulled out her gem focus, creating a half-spherical barrier pointed upward and taking his empty hand in hers as she led him toward the Dragon Priest. All around them, Ketar's Shout devastated the temple and the slopes of the mountain as it tore through the remaining defenders with the force of a hundred storms. Four consecutive lightning strikes pounded the Priest's ward, the final one shattering it and leaving him completely open.

Ketar released Serana's hand and lunged forth, the Fury held high as he let out a blood-curdling roar. The Priest raised his staff and fired a blast of lightning at Ketar's feet, but he just wasn't there anymore. He'd leapt into the air, using his cloak to launch himself into a twenty-foot long jump with his sword in both hands, primed for a falling diagonal strike that separated the Priest's head from his shoulders in one stroke. Serana gaped at the sight of him, perfectly crouched with his sword held in both hands, his cloak pooled around him in a fan shape. The lightning that lit the sky made his armor gleam brighter than ever, almost brightly enough to hurt her eyes as he slowly rose to his feet.

Serana made her way over to him as he sheathed his sword and pulled two items from the body of the dead Priest. One was the mask that had adorned his rotted features. The other was the staff he'd pulled from a slot in the platform that had contained the portal to Sovngarde. Ketar cast one glance at the darkened sky before once again raising his Voice.

" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

Immediately, the lightning stopped, and the sky cleared once more moments later. Ketar glanced around, looking for something, and getting his answer when Durnehviir flew into view and descended to land next to them.

"The interlopers have been dealt with, _Qahnaarin_ ," said the dragon. "The storm was an inspired move."

Ketar pulled the mask down, revealing a confident smirk. "I figured since I couldn't be everywhere at once, I might as well send you some help that didn't need my direct attention."

Durnehviir's head bowed. "And I thank you for that. They were easy enough to dispatch after you struck them from the sky. I see I have very rightly named you _Qahnaarin_."

He huffed a small laugh, hefting the Dragon Priest's staff and turning toward the slot where it belonged. The moment he slid it in, the portal exploded to life once more, casting an ethereal glow far into the night sky and blotting out the stars with its light.

"And so," said the dragon, "I believe my work here is done."

Ketar turned to him and bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. We couldn't have done this without you."

"Debatable, but you are most welcome. Please, call on me again when this is over, and the World-Eater has been defeated."

"I will. Goodbye, my friend."

" _Kogaan nau hi_ , _Dovahkiin_."

And with that, Durnehviir vanished in an explosion of violet light.

Serana stared at the empty space that the dragon had just occupied for a moment before turning to the portal. She frowned at the sight of it, even as she took a few steps toward the column of energy. Something about this portal made her uneasy, in a way she didn't fully understand. She reached out one gauntleted hand, flinching when Ketar's snapped out to catch her wrist. Her eyes flickered to his frowning features, confusion on her face.

"What? What is it?"

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "I wouldn't recommend doing that."

Her head cocked in question even as that same unease roiled in her gut.

He nodded at the portal. "Notice anything off?"

"I…" she glanced back at it, "I guess. I kinda feel…nauseous whenever I get close to it. Apprehensive."

Ketar sighed. "I was afraid of that."

Serana blinked. "What do you mean?"

He turned to face her. "Sera…you're a vampire. Your soul has been claimed by Molag Bal, and should you die as a vampire, it will return to Coldharbour." He waved at the portal. "Sovngarde is for the souls of untainted Nords who die with valor. I realize that as a Breton, I don't exactly count, but given my dragon blood, I should be able to pass through the same way Alduin does."

"So…you're saying…"

"If you step through that portal, I'm not sure you'll survive."

Serana frowned and furrowed her brows, her jaw working. "You knew."

A sigh. "Yeah. I figured it'd be something like that."

"Then why bring me along at all?"

He held her arms, smiling down at her warmly. "Because I want you with me every step of the way, inasmuch as possible. Where you simply can't go, you won't, but where you can…my life, my love, my heart—all of it is in your hands." He smiled wider. "After all, fighting alone is a last resort."

She smiled back. "Not the first." Her smile faded as she sighed and laid her head against his chest. "Okay…but promise me you'll come back victorious."

Ketar held her tightly, one gloved hand stroking her hair. "I promise, love. And when I do, we're getting that honeymoon. We'll go wherever you want, do whatever you want. I…I know I can't give you forever," he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, "but I'm damn well gonna try."

Serana sighed and closed her eyes, holding him tightly. "I love you, Kay."

He drew back and leaned down to claim her lips, the cold metal of his wedding ring pressing into her skin when he cupped her cheek. When they broke apart, his eyes were clouded with affection and desire. "I love you, Sera." His lips pursed as he released her and turned to the sky, one hand still laced with her fingers. " _Od-Ah-Viing_!"

Serana tilted her head in question as the now-familiar greeting roar of Odahviing echoed across the mountains, his snowy red form appearing a minute after Ketar's call sounded. He descended and landed before them with a questioning look in his eyes as he took in the half-demolished temple.

"Well," grunted the dragon, "you've been busy."

Ketar huffed a small laugh, features sharpening a moment later. "I'm not asking you to fight with me—that part's already been taken care of—but if you will, I'd like you to take Serana home. She can't pass through the portal to Sovngarde, and I'm not comfortable leaving her here, even if the place is mostly clear."

She put a hand on his arm. "Kay, that's really not necessary. Now that I know the way, I can fly back myself."

He frowned, sending her a pleading look. "Sera, please."

They stared at each other for a while, Serana's lips pursing tightly. She eventually sighed in acquiescence and gave him a small nod.

He let out a relieved breath and embraced her tightly. "Thank you."

Serana craned her neck to kiss his once, laying another brief peck on his lips as she backed up toward the dragon. "Be safe, my love."

Ketar smiled and bowed his head. "I will. Just wait—" he grinned, "—I'll be back by morning."

Serana chuckled and mounted Odahviing's neck. "I'm holding you to that, Kay."

"Come on! When have I ever broken a promise?"

She smiled warmly as he stepped back into the portal, his shining form glowing with energy and vanishing into nothingness as she whispered her reply.

"Never."

...

Despite Ketar's grinning confidence, Serana couldn't help but frown as she and Odahviing took to the skies. Just a minute or so into their flight, she felt that the dragon picked up on her tension.

A pronounced sigh left her throat. "I know, I know. It's just that…bad things tend to happen when we separate. It's your typical wifely concern—something I never thought I'd be assigning to myself, gods help me."

Odahviing couldn't restrain a small chuckle. "I said nothing."

She rolled her eyes and tried very hard not to think about how high up they were as she leaned into the dragon's scales. There was a certain…warmth to him that she hadn't noticed on any earlier flights, probably because she'd been desperately clinging to Ketar all those other times. For some reason, that heat reminded her of her husband.

 _Maybe it's just a universal dragon thing._

On further reflection, that was probably exactly what it was. After all, every member of the _dov_ bore the _Thu'um_ , an inner fire that projected their will upon the world. Perhaps, in a way, that was also meant literally. Whatever the case, she was quickly finding that riding solo on the back of a dragon—especially a dragon she'd befriended—was not so bad…as long as she didn't look down. So she closed her eyes and leaned in, arms and legs wrapped around Odahviing's neck as her torso was made flush with his body. She stayed that way, smiling at the contrast of the dragon's warmth and the cool air whipping past her body.

Until she heard a Voice that had only reached her ears once before.

" _Gol-Hah-Dov_!"

From below, _far_ below, came a surge of opalescent energy that hit Odahviing and Serana, washing over and pulling at them like the undertow of a raging storm. But not at their bodies; at their minds.

"Odahviing!" Serana yelled, half in panic as the dragon began to descend.

Whispers in her mind surged and hammered against her consciousness, her eyes shut tightly in focus as she tried to block them out.

"Odahviing, please," she groaned.

His only answer was a thundering landing somewhere in the wilderness of Eastmarch Hold, followed by a declaration to a figure that sent shivers up her spine.

" _Ahst_ _hin ahmik, thuri_. What is your command?" Serana couldn't help but hear the scorn lacing his otherwise subservient speech.

From the side of a dozen cultists and the enslaved Sahrotaar, the First Dragonborn strode forward in full regalia, his cursed sword strapped to his side.

"Get lost," ordered Miraak. "Return here and you will regret it." He turned his attention to Serana, extending his hand. "Come down from there."

Serana's head turned to him, blank-faced, her glowing eyes glazed over as she took his hand and dismounted from Odahviing's neck. Miraak waved two cultists forward, who immediately slapped a set of rigid ebony shackles around her wrists and locked them together.

He turned to his men upon verifying the integrity of the shackles. "Make sure she is never left unattended." Miraak froze upon realizing that Odahviing was still there. "Shouldn't you be doing something?"

The dragon trembled in obvious effort, trying to fight the effects of Miraak's control, but eventually bowed his head in subservience and took off, leaving a blank-faced Serana completely at the renegade Dragonborn's mercy.

* * *

AN: Well, well…the final battle has begun, and Sovngarde awaits. It's been a while since I played this part of the main quest, so if I left parts out, I apologize. For the most part, though, I felt like the assault on Skuldafn was supposed to be a hellstorm of destruction raining on the enemy. Difficult, but only for a lesser being fighting alone. As such, having Ketar and his wife tear through Alduin's defenses like paper, breaking down whatever's in their way—yeah, that just fit for me.

The Armor of Auriel...not really going to say anything much about it, but if you want a reference as to what it might look like, look up **lautasantenni's  
** Elven Dragonbone Light Armor. That's pretty much Ketar's new suit to a T, except with pauldrons that have a lower profile and are more contoured to the shape of the armor.

I'm not quite sure how I want to do the next chapter just yet. School is super busy right now, so I'm kinda surprised I found the time to hammer this one out. By the time this chapter hits the web, I'll hopefully have finished the next chapter, so once I get some commentary on this one, I'll release it. Hopefully.

Anyway, we're coming to the climax of the main quest and steadily approaching the end of this story. How close to the end? Well…I think I'll keep that to myself for now. Until next time.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Dragon Age: Inquisition – Adamant Fortress: the Battle of Skuldafn/Storm Call/silencing the Dragon Priest

Dragon language translations:

" _Pogaan krosis._ " – Many pardons

" _Zok brit uth_!" – Most wonderful command!

" _Keizaal_ " – Skyrim

" _zu'fahdonne_ " – my friends

" _Krif voth ahkrin_." – Fight with courage.

" _Kogaan nau hi, Dovahkiin_." – Blessing upon you, Dragonborn.

" _Ahst_ _hin ahmik, thuri._ " - At your service, master.


	18. Alduin's Bane

Ketar wasn't quite sure what he expected when he entered Sovngarde. A dark, starry world roughly mirroring the terrain of Skyrim at nighttime wasn't it. The first thing he became aware of upon exiting the portal was a pair of hooded statues flanking either side of a large set of descending stairs. Lit braziers sat next to these statues, though with the way the very sky glowed, their light wasn't all that necessary. Despite the fact that it appeared to be nighttime, the reds and oranges of various nebulas in the sky acted as this land's own gentle source of light, so much so that were it not for the knowledge of his mission, Ketar would have felt very relaxed indeed.

The staircase before him descended into a wide valley currently filled with a thick mist, so thick that he couldn't see beyond the bottom of the steps. On either side of the valley were two mountains, the one on his right much larger than the one on his left. In the very middle, far off into the distance, was a massive structure of Nordic make, but far grander than any building he'd seen in Skyrim. Without a doubt, this was the fabled mead hall of Shor himself, resting place of all valiant Nords after death. Or, it would've been were it not for Alduin.

With a sharp exhale, he tilted his head and adjusted his cloak, making sure all his weapons were within ready reach before proceeding down the steps. At the bottom, he felt his fingers twitch at the magical resonance in the air as he approached the edge of the mist. He reached out with one gloved hand, a voice from behind making him jump and whirl around, sword drawn.

"Turn back, traveler!"

Ketar blinked and stared at the figure that approached, a slain Stormcloak soldier, by his garb.

"Terror awaits within this mist," continued the frightened man. "Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way."

Another slow blink passed before the Dragonborn sheathed his sword and pulled his mail mask down. "This 'peril,' is it a dragon?"

The man's face darkened. "Aye. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley." He waved at the mist. "None have passed through and lived to tell of it. Every time I enter, my mind is clouded by darkness, and I lose my way."

Ketar frowned and turned back to the mist. "I can feel magic radiating off this cloud like nothing I've ever encountered." He extended one hand and wove his fingers through the fog, the strange substance curling and roiling around his hand. "If I'm right, Alduin is using this as some kind of net to trap the souls of recently departed Nords."

"So you understand what's happening?"

A sigh. "All too well." He smiled and returned his attention to the man. "But you needn't fear any longer." He held up his right hand, showing the silver-sapphire ring on his middle finger. "Do you recognize this?"

The Stormcloak perused the object with squinting eyes, shaking his head. "Alas, I do not. Last I remember, my unit was battling the Legion at Giant's Gap, our shield-wall defending until by dawn's light the Legion's ranks wavered. But I never knew if nights-end brought victory—a swift-flying arrow carried me to Sovngarde."

Ketar chewed his lower lip and thought for a second as he observed the mist. "Giant's Gap…yes, that battle was before my arrival in Skyrim. No matter." He smirked. "Perhaps this will jog your memory." His diaphragm expanded as he broadened his shoulders and took a deep breath. " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

His Voice parted the mist like a hot knife through butter, a small path clearing before them and showing the way through the valley. The soldier gaped at him, eyes wide.

"You…you're…"

"I'm here to put an end to my treacherous brother, but to do that, I'll have to draw him out first." He shrugged and proceeded into the valley, his companion following closely behind. "I figure the best way to pull that off is to cut his supply of souls by getting you to the hall."

The soldier gulped. "You court death in such a casual manner."

Ketar chuckled. "Friend, you have _no_ idea."

Despite his calm, collected exterior, Ketar was watching the skies like a hawk between Shouts of Clear Skies, constantly on the lookout for the midnight-black shadow that once haunted his dreams. No doubt Alduin was made aware of his presence the moment his Voice rang out the first time, if not before that, but for some reason, he had yet to show himself. Whatever his plan, Ketar kept moving, running across several other lost souls trapped in the mist. One he recognized from a tapestry he'd once seen in Solitude, a man wearing a crown of the bones and teeth of dragons.

Ketar stopped and stared at his back for a few moments before saying, "You're High King Torygg."

The man slowly turned to face him, his Jagged Crown glinting with the light of the iridescent night sky. "Aye, that was my title once. When Ulfric Stormcloak, with savage Shout, sent me here, my sole regret was fair Elisif, left forlorn and weeping. I faced him fearlessly—my fate inescapable—yet, my honor is unstained. Can Ulfric say the same?"

Ketar's jaw tensed. "I'm sad to say that two and a half years of war answered that question negatively."

The former king sighed and shook his head. "To think that under different circumstances, I might've called that man brother. That Skyrim should be left to the chaos of civil war is a blight I wish my fair wife did not have to endure."

"Last I saw, she was holding up okay, all things considered, but Elisif isn't cut out to rule a country."

Torygg nodded slowly. "I wish, for all the bounties of the afterlife, that I were still there to guide her through it."

Ketar placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "That makes two of us. Now, come." He nodded toward the path. "It's time you get out of here. I would not have you two separated forever by the gluttony of Alduin."

"A curious sentiment coming from a killer."

His eyes widened as he slowly turned to face the man addressing him. "Maul. So you figured out who was behind the mask."

The burly Nord crossed his arms. "It wasn't all that difficult. Even _before_ you became Guildmaster, you never respected Maven. Point of fact, you had this look in your eye whenever you met that I know very well: the look of a killer casing his mark."

Ketar smirked. "Well, you're not wrong there, but the part of me that knows mercy had enough sway to spare her life. Though I daresay the psychological torture she now endures might well be worse than death—as I'd intended." He drew himself up. "So, what are your intentions? Want to fight again? I'm not quite sure what would happen if you were killed here, and not devoured. I'd assume your soul would re-form elsewhere."

Maul's jaw clenched. "That depends. What happened to Dirge?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"I'm no idiot, Dov. I know exactly how my brother would've reacted to news of my death. What happened to him?"

A sigh. "Well, he's still alive, if that's what you're asking, though it was a bit of a close call. He challenged me to a duel on the night of my wedding—which I didn't take too kindly to. However, cooler heads prevailed when Brynjolf stepped in for me and bested him without ending his life. We managed to convince him to stand down, gave him a second chance. With any luck, Bryn's putting him to work rebuilding Riften's economy right now. He'll be glad to know your soul is still intact."

Maul blinked a few times, sighing in visible relief as he closed his eyes. "Then I guess we're not fighting after all—" he snorted a laugh, "—not that I'd win anyway."

Ketar smirked. "If you're sick of standing out here in the cold, I suggest you stick close to me. Like I told Torygg, I would prefer not to separate you from your brother by losing you to Alduin."

The man grunted and shrugged. "Not like I have anything better to do. Lead the way."

And so he did, their group picking up numerous other souls trapped in the mist along the way until they finally reached the edge of the soul snare. The moment they stepped clear, it was like a breath of fresh air, for _all_ of them, and the splendor of Shor's Hall was a welcome sight indeed. Up a short but wide set of stairs they climbed, stopping short at the top. A long bridge made of giant bones connected their platform to the city-sized mead hall in the distance, a bottomless gap yawning beneath it.

At their end of the bridge, flanked on either side by tall arches made of bone, was a man (if he could be called that) clad in scale armor from the waist down, but wearing no shirt. A battleaxe sat on his back, its sheath anchored to his torso by a buckled leather strap. The weapon, usually the full length of a man, was dwarfed by its owner, who stood at an imposing eight feet tall. He stared at the group with an austere expression, his eyes eventually locking onto Ketar's brightly-armored form.

"What brings you here, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to the honored dead?"

Ketar glanced at his companions and approached him, projecting his voice. "I am Ketar Niel Dov, and though I am no Nord, I value Sovngarde every bit as much. The mist that plagues the land between the entrance and this hall is an unnatural blight that must be cleansed. I intend to do just that by defeating Alduin in his seat of power."

The man frowned and nodded slowly. "A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the wyrm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor's restrained our wrathful onslaught—perhaps, deep-counselled, your doom he foresaw."

Ketar's eyes narrowed even as his ears perceived chanting in the background, coming from the direction of the hall. He smirked and huffed a small laugh. "I doubt that very much."

"Oh?"

"However, should I fail in this task, I would ask you to allow my companions passage into Shor's Hall, to defend them from any reprisals the World-Eater might bring down on them."

The man's chest puffed out. "No shade are you, and certainly no Nord, yet you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you demand entry?"

"By what right do _you_ deny it?"

"I am Tsun, Shield-Thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all the souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcomed, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

"So you're the gatekeeper."

A nod. "Each soul who enters must prove their worth to me." His eyes narrowed. "Doubly so for trespassers such as yourself. So I ask again: by what right do you demand entry?"

Ketar's eyes slowly drifted to the hall, that curious chanting reaching him once more and bringing a small, nostalgic smile to his face as his voice lowered near a whisper. "I recognize those words…from my childhood." He smiled wider and turned back to Tsun. "You want to know what right I have to the Hall? Very well." He pointed out at the structure. "Do you hear them? The heroes who sing in the ancient tongue of the dragons?"

The gatekeeper tilted his head slightly, then nodded.

Ketar smirked. "Well…you may not realize this…but they happen to be talking about me."

His eyebrows shot upward. "Is that so?"

Ketar nodded slowly. "This is why I sincerely doubt that Shor held you back in foresight of my doom." He straightened himself up, translating the chant as it was sung in the distance.

" _And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold,  
That when brothers wage war come unfurled!_"

A gentle breeze stirred Ketar's cloak, his silvery armor glinting with the light of the night sky.

" _Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,  
With a hunger to swallow the world!_"

At this, the mist at his back thickened just a bit, the souls that had followed him drawing closer to the bridge in fear. He glanced back to see the shadow he'd been looking for, perched on the peak of the largest mountain, his red eyes glaring murderously at the Dragonborn. Ketar just smiled.

" _But a day shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies,  
Will be silenced forever and then!_"

Ketar turned back to Tsun, one hand slowly coming up to grip the hilt of his sword.

" _Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw!_ "

The Fury sang as it cleared its sheath, its black blade aglow with the runes etched into its surface, the sapphire glowing just as brightly as the sword was held up like a war banner. Ketar's voice pierced the din of the chant he was recounting, echoing across the darkness.

" _Dragonborn be the savior of men!_ "

He plunged the sword into the ground, kneeling with it as it descended and the impact sent a thick cloud of dust billowing around him, the wind whipping his cloak through the air. A fierce look entered his eyes as he held Tsun's gaze, the giant of a man staring back at him with a slackened jaw that quickly turned into a wide smile.

"So you are a doom-driven hero of dragon blood." Tsun grinned. "Very well. I will judge you, and by that shall your companions fall under my protection. Alduin will not dare to trespass so close to the bridge. However, to enter the Hall proper, they must prove themselves all the same."

Ketar's head tilted briefly as he drew his sword from the stones and twirled it into a ready position. "Good enough for me."

…

The exhausted pants of two men were heard from the side of the Whalebone Bridge a scant five minutes later, both leaning on their weapons heavily.

Ketar chuckled breathlessly as he slowly hoisted himself upright. "You actually winded me. I'm impressed. Though—" he grunted as he finally got to his feet, "—I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less from a man who can hold even the World-Eater at bay."

Tsun straightened himself and cleared his throat. "Likewise, Dragonborn. I find you worthy of passage and swear to defend your charges. Should you wish to enter the Hall, you will find several who will aid in your task."

"Thank you. I think I will."

"It is long since one of the living has entered here." His head bowed slightly as he stepped aside and planted the hilt of his axe in the ground, hands braced on its head. "May Shor's favor follow you and your errand."

Ketar returned the bow and turned to his companions. "Don't worry. I won't be in there long. No matter what happens next, you will not fall to Alduin's wrath. I promise."

They nodded to him in thanks, watching as he proceeded across the bridge and through the wide gates of the Hall of Valor.

…

The first thing he became aware of upon entering Shor's Hall was the overarching sweetness of mead in the air. The second was the sheer scope of the place, and just how packed it was with Nords of all garb and weaponry. The view from the outside had prepared him somewhat, but between the high-vaulted ceilings and the grandeur of the rooms, Ketar was more than a little overwhelmed. If Jorrvaskr was the mead hall of heroes, the Hall of Valor was the mead hall of gods. A few moments after entry, a blond man in heavy armor strode up to him, a familiar axe on his back.

"Welcome, Dragonborn!" he shouted, smiling. "Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist, but three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

Ketar's eyes narrowed as he thought the names over. "Gormlaith…Hakon…" his eyes widened in realization, "they created Dragonrend!"

The man nodded slowly. "Aye, and they have been chomping at the bit to unleash its bite once more. Look around, and you will find them readily. As for me, I have others to attend to, and many stories to tell." He turned and began to sidle off, giving Ketar a good look at the weapon on his back.

The Dragonborn's eyes went double-wide. "Hold up—you're Ysgramor, the first Companion."

The man smirked and looked back at him. "I am. What of it?"

"I'm a Companion myself, and though we have yet to recover all the fragments of your axe, the form of Wuuthrad will one day adorn the walls of Jorrvaskr once more."

He smiled. "That a Dragonborn stands among the ranks of the Companions warms my heart. Go forth, valiant hero, and do our company proud!"

Ketar bowed his head. "I will."

The Dragonborn released a slow breath as he took in the massive crowd of Nords he'd have to sort through to find just three. With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, he plunged into the fray and began muscling his way through the press of sweaty, armored bodies, the sloshing of mead and laughter filling his ears. A smirk twitched his lips at the thought of Lydia coming here. Yes…true Nords certainly had something spectacular to look forward to. Ysgramor hadn't been lying when he said the heroes in question wouldn't be hard to find.

In a side room, standing all together and looking put out in their own personal ways, were the very three at whose hands he'd witnessed Alduin's first defeat. With measured steps and a deep breath, he approached them, taking off his crown and pulling back the coif underneath. They turned to face him almost immediately.

Gormlaith, an armored blonde woman with blue war paint on her face, eyed Ketar with an appraising up and down glance. "So you're it?" She turned to her companions with a derisive snort. "He's little more than a _boy_."

Ketar tilted his head, eyes narrowed in affront. "A boy who dealt more damage to the World-Eater than the three of you _ever_ did—though I'll admit I wouldn't have gotten as far without the Shout you created."

Felldir the Old, a man with a greatsword and the garb of the Greybeards, frowned and regarded Ketar carefully. "Though his tone is…impertinent, he speaks the truth. And unlike us, he has the opportunity and power to strike Alduin down here, where he can be destroyed for good."

Gormlaith grunted and crossed her arms, but said nothing in protest.

Hakon One-Eye, a burly man with braided red hair and a battleaxe, approached Ketar with a malevolent smile on his face. "Whatever the case, with his arrival, Alduin's doom is now ours to seal." He placed a fist on his chest in salute. "Just speak the word, and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the wyrm wherever he lurks."

Felldir held a hand up to halt his more impetuous friends. "Hold, comrades—let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined."

Ketar frowned and put a hand on his chin. "That mist is the root of the issue. I noticed some traces of strange magic while I was passing through it. It's similar to something I experienced in the Soul Cairn, but with an added layer of…something I still can't place my finger on."

Felldir frowned and nodded grimly. "Alduin's mist is more than a snare—its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak."

"I tried to lure him out by clearing it with my _Thu'um_ , but I could only purge a small area at a time, and as long as I didn't wander into the fog, he stayed away."

"But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

Ketar arched an eyebrow. "I've combined my Voice with another's, a dragon I befriended, to similar effect."

Gormlaith eyed him dubiously. "You allied with the dragons?"

He sighed. "With a select few who share my vision of peace, yes. They've earned my friendship—and my loyalty."

"Regardless," Hakon interrupted, "Felldir speaks wisdom. The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "He may act cowardly, but as one of those dragons told me, we must not underestimate the limits of his power. Even a coward becomes dangerous when backed into a corner, and I have already tasted of death once at his hand."

"Yet you stand here alive and ready to charge once more into the fray," said Gormlaith. "I commend your courage, Dragonborn, and…apologize for my earlier outburst."

He chuckled. "It's a common mistake where I'm concerned. Now…shall we?"

"Indeed!" she shouted, drawing her sword and thrusting it into the air. "To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted."

Ketar nodded and made to follow them out the gate, to the shouts and cheers of the resident heroes. But as he made to don his crown once more, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Ketar?"

His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in disbelief as he slowly turned toward the source. Standing before him, just a few arm-spans away, was a man in plated armor lined with fur. He had fiery, long, well-kept red hair—and two Akaviri swords strapped to his hip: one a katana, the other a shorter wakizashi.

"Kid…is that really you?"

Ketar stared at him agape, slowly approaching him with hesitant steps. "…Niel? Are you—" he shook his head, "—what are you _doing_ here? I thought…"

The older man smirked and shrugged. "I'm only half Imperial, kid. My father married a Nord woman before he was stationed in Cyrodiil. Guess enough of her blood was passed on for me to qualify." He frowned and looked Ketar over in concern. "Better question is: what are _you_ doing here? Last I checked, you weren't Nordic at all…or _dead_ , for that matter. And—what the hell are you _wearing_?"

Ketar frowned and blinked, still in shock. "I—no, I'm not dead. I came here through an interdimensional gateway…" At the upward hike of Niel's eyebrows, Ketar shook his head. "It's a long story. So's the armor. Dragonborn business." He smiled and shrugged. "You know how it is."

Niel smiled knowingly and nodded slowly. "Yeah…yeah I do."

The two men stared at each other for a long time, a flurry of emotions flooding Ketar as he tried to maintain his composure.

The Dragonborn cleared his throat sharply. "So…you made it in before the mist."

Niel nodded slowly. "I was one of the last. Let me tell you, that Tsun guy is no joke. Gave me a run for my money, that's for sure."

Ketar snorted a laugh. "You see what he's gotta contend with? He _better_ if this place is going to stay secure."

"Yeah…" Niel frowned, "so…you're off to fix things, eh?"

A blink. "I am."

They were both silent a while.

"Niel…why did you never tell me what I really was?"

He sighed hard, wiping a hand over his face. "Because of this."

"…what?"

" _This_ ," he repeated, motioning to Ketar. "This…stern, austere persona you have now. If you'd known from the start what you were, the blood you carried, the responsibility you were born with—I didn't know about Alduin, none of us did, but being Dragonborn is burden enough. So we kept it from you while slowly easing you into the knowledge you'd need to realize your potential."

"I get that, but…" Ketar winced, "Niel, I've had a _lot_ of time to think about my childhood, about the night the Thalmor attacked, about the day you—" he choked and grimaced, anger and grief warring within him, "—you were all willing to sacrifice yourselves to protect me. Why do that if you didn't even know about Alduin?"

Niel's lips pursed. "Because the Blades exist to defend the Dragonborn. We failed in that mission two hundred years ago, and we would not do it again." He looked down and away. "That and…you were important to us. Not one of us had children of our own. It was considered too cruel and dangerous to bring new life into a world where their parents would be hunted by the Thalmor. So…you kinda became our kid. The little tyke who brought so much light and purpose to our lives. Even Marius, whenever he came to study, was a welcome change of pace.

"Even when you started growing up and got all moody and closed-off, we could tell how much you still cared, despite not having a speck of blood tying us together. And because of that, we all loved you." His jaw tightened. "So yeah, of _course_ we were willing to lay down our lives for yours. And you know what?" He placed his hands on Ketar's shoulders. "I don't regret it. Not one bit." Niel frowned deeply. "I know…I know I could never take the place of your father, Ketar, but…you were the closest thing I've ever had to a son."

Ketar's composure frayed as his eyes filled and stung.

Niel smiled, similarly moved, his voice cracking. "And I'm _proud_ of you…of the man you've become."

At this, Ketar gulped and nodded repeatedly, pulling his mentor and caretaker into a tight embrace as he cried in silence. They stayed that way for some time, completely oblivious to the numerous eyes on them. A few minutes in, Niel spoke once more, in a whisper only Ketar could hear.

"Hey kid…your real dad…"

Ketar's eyes snapped wide open in alert.

"…don't give up on him just yet…okay?"

He drew back and stared Niel in the eye, lips parted slightly. "You know…you know who he is…don't you?"

The Blade smirked. "I've said all I needed to." He nodded toward the three heroes waiting for him. "Now go save the world."

Ketar's lips pursed for a moment before he allowed himself to smile, embracing Niel once more. "Goodbye…my old friend."

"You take care of yourself."

"I will."

At that, they broke apart, a nod of mutual respect exchanged as Ketar turned for the door.

"And tell that wife of yours I said hi!"

Ketar's head whipped around, a questioning expression on his face.

Niel just smirked and waved at his left hand.

He smiled and nodded once. "Will do." Turning back to the gates, he slowly exhaled a long breath to calm his nerves, eyes slipping shut. "Okay…"

The dark blue orbs of his eyes snapped open, intensely fixing onto Alduin's mountain.

"I'm ready."

…

Ketar and the three heroes proceeded across the Whalebone bridge and exited the far side to sounds of applause from the souls he'd escorted to the hall.

Tsun likewise gave him an approving nod. "The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare."

Ketar nodded back and proceeded beyond the stone platform, all the way to the edge of the mist and the mountain just beyond. Off in the distance, far above them, he could barely make out a midnight-black form, hateful red eyes glowing through the mist. Ketar felt his lips curve with a predatory smile.

 _I'm coming for you._

"All together now!" shouted Felldir. "Clear this miasma!"

Ketar took a deep breath, his fellow heroes doing the same. " _Lok—_ "

" _Lok —_ "

"— _Vah-Koor_!"

The fog billowed and flowed before the power of their Voices, rapidly dissipating as they'd expected until—

" _Ven-Mul-Riik_!"

The all-too-familiar Voice sent a chill down Ketar's spine, the very Voice that haunted his nightmares. And in this particular case, that Voice returned the mist almost immediately.

The heroes exchanged a glance before Gormlaith snarled and faced the fog once more.

"Again!" she yelled.

They followed her order and raised their Voices again.

" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

The mist faded even faster this time, but once again, Alduin's Shout returned it to its former strength.

Ketar's eyes rolled, casting the World-Eater an exasperated glare. "Really?!"

"Does his strength have no end?" asked Hakon in desperation. "Is our struggle in vain?"

Ketar snarled and stormed toward the mist, into its depths, despite the protests of his companions. A profound anger and determination lit inside him, driving his hands as he linked his fingers together and swept them in clockwise motions, his palms facing outward as they drew close together, the sundial of the rift open and glowing. His dark blue eyes slipped shut as he sent up a silent prayer.

 _Father…lend me your strength._

When they snapped open, he thrust his arms forward, toward the base of the mountain, and from the rift came a gigantic blast of pure Aetherial light that rapidly cleansed the air of Alduin's foul mist. Still, to dissipate it all himself would take more strength than he could spare for this fight, so he projected his voice to his companions and yelled, "Now!"

As one, the heroes lifted their Voices and Shouted once more, " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

Before their combined might, the soul snare was utterly destroyed, blasted out of existence with no hope of return. A deep growl sounded from above, yet for all that, the World-Eater still would not descend. At wit's end and just about done waiting, Ketar returned a growl of his own and focused his Voice.

" _Al-Du-In_!"

 _That_ got exactly the response he'd wanted. Specifically, the World-Eater split the air with a blood-chilling roar and took to the skies, circling the mountain a few times and giving Ketar time to withdraw toward his comrades. When he finally descended to ground level, the Nords drew their weapons and began advancing on him, but Ketar sensed something was off and held them back with a hand.

Alduin smiled, a vile thing that made all who saw it uneasy. "You are persistent, _Dovahkiin_. _Pruzah ol aar_ —a fine slave you would have made."

Ketar sneered. "I am no-one's slave, Alduin. Thought you would've learned that by now."

"Oh, but I disagree. See, any mortal will submit—when under the proper leverage."

The Nords exchanged wary looks as Ketar felt a shiver pass through his body.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Dragonborn uneasily.

"See for yourself," said Alduin before raising his Voice and Shouting off to the side. " _Fiik-Lo-Sah_!"

Familiar with this Shout, Ketar wondered exactly what he was getting at until not one phantom form, but four appeared. And two of them were quite familiar.

"Sera!" Ketar's eyes flashed with shock and fear, flickering over to and locking onto the masked form of Miraak. "What have you done?" he growled.

" _Now, now,_ " he replied mockingly, " _let's not lose our temper._ " He nodded to Serana, who was glassy-eyed and armed with a dagger—that she put to her own neck. " _Wouldn't want any…_ accidents _to happen, would we?_ "

Serana's wrists were cuffed together with shackles of some sort of metal, connected by a rigid bar of the same material, and she was flanked on either side by Miraak's cultists.

Ketar's jaw clenched, nostrils flaring in rage. "How did you even get free?"

Miraak cleared his throat and nodded to Alduin. " _Do you want to take this one or should I?_ "

Alduin just growled.

Ketar glanced between them in disbelief. "You're working _together_?"

Miraak nodded, taking in a breath to speak, but Ketar cut him off.

"You used the souls Alduin absorbed in Sovngarde to teleport yourself from Apocrypha."

" _…huh. Got it in one. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, considering you managed to outsmart the Lord of forbidden knowledge. I take it then that you understand what's at stake?_ "

His jaw tightened.

" _No? Well, I'll explain. Alduin and I have grown…tired of your interference. It's impotent, annoying, and quite frankly childish; the way you parade around like some paragon of righteousness. So, you're going to submit and surrender, give up all hope of ever destroying us, and you're going to return to Nirn, where you'll spend the rest of your days in servitude. Starting with killing those three interlopers behind you. Or…_ " he waved to Serana, who pressed the knife further into her neck, " _I think you get the picture._ "

Ketar glanced back at the three heroes, who were eyeing him nervously, then returned his attention to the _dovahhe_ currently threatening his wife.

"So…what shall it be, _Dovahkiin_?" taunted Alduin, mocking triumph in his voice.

Ketar held a hand over his face, over his closed eyes, his breathing labored and heavy and the only thing breaking the deafening silence. And then…something else broke the silence. Something that, from the looks of them, Alduin and Miraak hadn't expected in the least.

"Heh…heh…hehehehehe…"

Ketar's chest and throat rumbled over and over with dark, malevolent chuckles, his hand coming off his face to show tears of mirth leaking from his eyes, his head rearing back as he let loose with raucous, unsettling laughter. He used that same hand to wipe his eyes and let loose a few final rumbles of laughter.

"I-I'm sorry…I know this is a serious situation, but…" his eyes snapped to them, their dark blue alight with a taunting glee, "I just couldn't help myself." Ketar blinked once, twice, cocking his head curiously at the dumbstruck look on Alduin's face. "I-I'm sorry, did you…did you think I'd be afraid for her life?" He chortled. "What," he jerked a thumb at the other Dragonborn, "against a punkass like Miraak? Who spent the last eternity hiding," he shot Miraak a glare, " _cowering_ in Apocrypha?" He reared up and laughed once more, scrubbing his eyes with his gloved fingers. "Oh…gods that's great."

Ketar's eyes fixed on them with a malevolent fire reflected in his smile. "Let me let you two _masterminds_ in on a little secret." He pointed at Serana. "That woman—my wife—scares _me_ sometimes." He gestured between the two _dovah_. "And considering that you felt the need to leverage me into _surrendering_ …well, let's just say I like my odds more and more by the second."

Miraak growled and motioned to Serana. " _All the power in the world won't stop me from making her drive that dagger through her heart._ "

" _Yeah…_ "

Ketar grinned at the new, feminine voice.

" _…about that._ "

In the blink of an eye, Serana flipped the dagger underhandedly and tore a hole through the throat of the cultist on her right, using her legs to entrap and grapple the second one to the ground, where she drove the dagger into his chest. She ripped the weapon loose and rose to a low crouch, bloodied knife held in readiness.

Miraak just stared at her. " _But—how—I had control of your mind!_ "

" _Oh_ did _you?_ " she asked tauntingly. " _Tell me…could you control_ him _?_ " She nodded in Ketar's direction. " _Because my will's just as strong, and his very strength flows through my veins._ " She smirked. " _I just needed to act the part long enough to know what you were after._ "

Miraak trembled in rage, his right hand closing around his accursed sword and drawing it to point threateningly in her direction. " _Free will or no, you're still outnumbered—and_ shackled _!_ " He motioned the rest of his men forward. " _You won't leave this place alive!_ "

Serana grinned, all teeth. " _Is that so?_ "

As five cultists moved in on her, she dropped the dagger in her hand and straightened up fully, her eyes slipping shut. When the first two closed almost within striking distance, her eyes opened, glowing as brightly and beautifully as ever.

And then she _exploded_.

Not "flame and boom" exploded. More like "wings and screeching" exploded. That is to say, her body exploded into a thick cloud of bats that bowled over her would-be attackers and Miraak as well. Immediately after that, the link dissipated, and Ketar was left chuckling.

"So you finally figured it out, love. Good for you." Then his eyes snapped to a baffled Alduin, their depths alight with malevolent fire. "Well, now that _that_ distraction is out of the way, shall we?" He paced around the World-Eater, who was eyeing him with a progressively more murderous gaze. "No more running, no more underhanded tactics. Just you," he pointed to him, then jabbed a thumb into his chest, "and me." He slowly drew Dragonborn's Fury, twirling it into a two-handed grip at his side. "Come on, 'firstborn'!" He held his arms out to the sides tauntingly. "Show me what you're so damn proud of, you arrogant reptilian piece of shit!"

And finally, Alduin released a furious roar, charging forth on all fours—and still missing a talon—as Ketar pulled his mail mask over his features and leapt into the fray.

…

It was when Serana had finally retrieved her weapons from the groaning guards that she materialized into human form, leaning against a nearby boulder.

"You know," she lilted, getting Miraak's attention, "kidnapping me at any point in time is what most people would consider a 'bad idea.'" She smiled nastily. "But doing so in the middle of the night?" Serana pushed off the boulder and slowly drew her sword as she bared her fangs in a snarl. "Now _that_ was a really, _really_ stupid move."

Miraak's head cocked. "So you're as confident in your abilities as he is. Let's see just how merited that confidence is." He turned to his dragon companion. "Sahrotaar!"

The serpentine dragon slunk toward Serana at the same time as Miraak, prompting her to pull her perfect gem from its pouch and prepare for a quick and nasty fight.

…

Ketar whirled and spun, his blade and cloak mirroring black blurs as he and the three heroes behind him battled the World-Eater at the foot of his mountain. A tail whip by Alduin sent Gormlaith flying, and a powerful blow with his left wing laid out Felldir and Hakon, allowing the dragon to focus his full attention and fury on Ketar. The Dragonborn ducked and weaved, his sword deflecting assaults from Alduin's remaining talon one after the next as he blocked and parried with counter-thrusts and slashes. Alduin's jaws snapped toward him, Ketar diving back into a roll and finding himself catapulted further back when the World-Eater took advantage and added an Unrelenting Force Shout to the mix.

Coughing hard, Ketar scrambled to regain his footing, the Fury held in both hands as he readied himself for Alduin's next attack.

"Freedom of will shall make no difference!" the dragon bellowed. "No mere vampire can hope to stand against two _dovahhe_ and live!"

Ketar smirked. "First off, I beg to differ. Secondly—" he countered a talon strike with a duck and counter-slash that carved a shallow gash into Alduin's wing, "—you're kind of missing the point. See, like me…" he grinned confidently, "Sera's never very far from help."

…

Right as Sahrotaar readied himself to breathe fire over Serana, one, two, three metal objects imbedded themselves in his neck in rapid succession. Enraged, the dragon whirled toward the source of the assault and snarled at the sight of six figures standing side-by-side. Three of them were arrayed in the hybrid plate-lamellar armor of the Blades, one in steel plate armor, one in the royal armor of the Volkihar clan, and one in the midnight folds of Nocturnal's Embrace. One of the Blades-outfitted was holding and reloading a crossbow of dark bronze metal, a grin plastered to his features.

"Hiya," he said with a smile. "How's _your_ night going?"

Serana stared at them all for a moment, dumbstruck, before grinning from ear to ear. "Better, now that you're here."

Miraak glared viciously at the new arrivals, motioning to his men and dragon. "Contain them!" He turned back to Serana. "The Dragonborn's lover is _mine_."

Her eyes narrowed as she pointed her sword aggressively. "That's _wife_ now, numbskull."

Miraak paced around her as the battle was joined by Serana's friends and mother, the sounds of their struggle a chaotic backdrop to the tension building around their imminent duel.

"Whatever your title, vampire—" he twirled his sword around several times, the expandable blade whipping about and carving gashes into the dirt, "—you'll be _dust_ when I'm finished."

Baring her fangs, Serana charged forth, sliding under a backhanded swipe that sent his whip-like blade swishing over her face. Lunging to her feet, she opened with a long thrust of her basket-hilt toward his chest, his sword's guard used to parry the strike away as the blade collapsed to normal length. Two more rapid strikes were laid on his shoulder and lower leg, each parried and countered with a slash at her neck. Serana ducked and pirouetted around his strikes, her vampiric agility lending itself to her strange fencing style as every time she twirled around Miraak's attacks, it gave her the perfect window to counter with a thrust and twist of her blade.

Miraak followed his defense against one such barrage of attacks with a series of interlocking strikes effectively forming a wall of death between him and her. His blade expanded and curved like a bullwhip, spiraling in the space between them and leaving her with no room to attack. In response, Serana leapt and twist-flipped over him, falling into a crouching slash at his legs as she hit the ground. Not only was he not there when she struck, but he'd apparently been expecting the maneuver, because on one of his interlocking strikes, he swept the blade back and upward in a diagonal swipe that carved a deep gash into her right cheek.

Snarling, Serana lunged sideways and rolled away from a lightning strike that would've scorched her armor, noting with some apprehension that Miraak had yet to use his Voice.

 _If I'm having this much trouble now…_

She made a split-second decision and leapt away from him when he fired off another electrical spell, using her cloak to extend her flight distance and beginning her transformation on the way down. With a roar that split the night, the black haze that engulfed her body evaporated when she launched herself from its depths on leather wings. She noted with some surprise that this time around, her attire when in full vampire lord form was quite different from her last transformation. Specifically, instead of her typical crown and sparse underclothes, she was encased from the neck down in interwoven threads of black-and-gold ebony, as if wires of the metal had been twined into thick cords and used to create an ornate armored vest and leggings.

Between the moment she realized this and the moment she tangled blades with Miraak once more, Serana had to wonder why that had happened now, of all times. The only vampire lords she'd ever seen with armor in their transformed state were her father and Vingalmo. Harkon had given himself fully to the service of Molag Bal, and as a result bore Daedric armor when he transformed. Vingalmo was an Altmer bigot and a close ally of the Thalmor, so he was encased in plates of Elven-forged metal. And then it hit her: Serana was wearing a ring of pure ebony metal around her neck, a symbol of her eternal love and trust for her husband.

And she just smiled.

…

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

All three Nord heroes combined their Voices against Alduin in an attempt to give Ketar some breathing room. It worked, to a degree, hurling the dragon against the side of the mountain, but that only seemed to piss him off, as he took to the skies a moment later and began raining fire on them from above. In addition (and this was a particular annoyance to Ketar), a deep roar he released brought flaming meteors into existence that exploded when they made contact with anything in their path. Snarling, Ketar took a breath and channeled his _Thu'um_.

" _Strun-Bah-Qo_!"

The storming skies and lightning strikes that followed nailed one meteor after another, exploding them prematurely, before they could even come close to the ground, and ridding Alduin of a great deal of his cover. Gormlaith, reckless and impetuous as ever, lunged forth and readied her Voice once more.

" _Joor-Zah-Frul_!" she called, managing to strike Alduin with Dragonrend and bring him tumbling to the ground.

The World-Eater rolled end-over-end, grinding to a stop and roaring at the Nord woman. "I devoured you once, _mey'jul_! I will do so once more!"

Gormlaith bared her teeth savagely and rapped her sword on her shield in taunt. "Just try it, wyrm!"

Ketar rushed forward to back her up as Alduin prepared to blast her with fire. He slid to a stop between them, channeling a ward to deflect the flames and giving Gormlaith an opening to charge in and slash at Alduin's neck. The dragon snarled and thrust his left wing forward, striking her in the side and sending her tumbling to the ground. Ketar figured he'd intended to skewer and toss her aside, but forgotten that he was missing the talon on that wing. Either way, he used Alduin's moment of distraction to unleash a torrent of plasma bolts on the dragon's head and wings.

His spells were shrugged off with little effort, small snarls of pain indicating that he was hurting Alduin, but the lack of visible damage meant he was only succeeding in making him angrier. Which, as he knew from experience, was a double-edged sword with dragons. Alduin lunged forward, using his wings to propel himself even faster in an attempt to swallow Ketar whole. The Dragonborn pirouetted around his thrusting neck, drawing the Blade of Woe in the same motion and slashing its jagged edge into the side of Alduin's head. On his second strike, the dagger got stuck on one of Alduin's horns, and he pulled hard trying to yank it loose.

Unable to do so, he felt his feet leave the ground when Alduin whipped his head to the right and hurled him toward the side of the mountain. His cloak flared and billowed around him as its enchantment allowed him to slow his motion while the other two heroes closed in on Alduin from opposite sides.

 _Well…no one ever said saving the world was easy…_

Ketar tilted his head with a huff as Dragonborn's Fury left its sheath and he leapt back into the heat of battle.

…

Agmaer released another trio of bolts toward Sahrotaar, dodging around strikes and spells from the cultists Miraak had sent to slow them down. Delphine and Brelyna moved in to cover him, Lydia roaring and tackling two of them, one in each arm. Brynjolf's black-clad form was weaving in and out of the deranged cultists, twisting around their attacks like liquid darkness. For every second that passed, his attackers seemed to weaken, until they were practically falling over each other in their attempts to keep fighting. Valerica was harassing Sahrotaar with spells from the opposite side, splitting his attention in two directions while fending off cultists with her bare hands.

From most people's perspectives, the elder vampire almost seemed bored with the whole endeavor, but to Agmaer, the worry etched into her austere features was all-too-real. He could tell she ached to join her daughter against Miraak, but Sahrotaar was proving a great deal more resilient and agile than they'd anticipated, to the point where all the Blades and even a pureblood vampire were having trouble handling him. One cultist with a mace managed to slip through Brelyna's defensive lines, seeing as how she was engaged with another bearing an axe, and knocked Agmaer's crossbow from his grip.

The cultist made to take Agmaer's head off on the reverse swing, but he ducked and nailed the masked man in the gut with an armored gauntlet, following that up with a clubbing of his head with the blunt end of his axe. He swept his feet out with a trip-kick and finished him off with a falling pommel strike to the head, returning his axe to his belt and snatching up his crossbow. He regained control of his weapon just in time to see Sahrotaar diving for him, jaws wide open. Eyes widening in panic, Agmaer quickly took aim and released a bolt into the dragon's gullet when he was barely fifteen feet away.

Sahrotaar growled, but kept coming, leaving the young Blade with no time or room to maneuver. He felt his stomach lurch to one side when a thick cloud of bats launched him out of harm's way, Sahrotaar's jaws snapping shut around part of the swarm as Agmaer hit the dirt some ten feet away from the dragon's point of impact. The remaining bat swarm rapidly coalesced into the grimacing form of Valerica, who was bent over in pain and clutching her gut.

Agmaer reached out toward her. "Lady Valerica—"

"Focus!" she hissed. "I'm fine!"

Frowning but nodding, Agmaer hefted his crossbow and took aim on Sahrotaar once more as Brelyna and Delphine moved to intercept him now that he was on the ground. The Dunmer girl let loose with one spell after the next, summoning a Flame Atronach and adding its firepower to hers while Delphine charged forward with her katana at the ready. Sahrotaar drew in a breath to Shout, but Agmaer put a quick stop to that when he sent an exploding bolt of frost down the dragon's gullet, effectively choking him with shards of metal and ice. As a result, Brelyna and her Daedra blinded the dragon with an endless barrage of spells, and Delphine scored a deep gash on Sahrotaar's right wing.

Snarling and growling, the dragon's entire body whipped and curled faster than anyone could react, Agmaer's jaw dropping as Delphine was rapidly entangled in Sahrotaar's body and tail. At that particular moment, the dragon looked very serpentine indeed as he used his muscular length to squeeze the life out of the elder Blade.

"Delphine!" Agmaer yelled, releasing a trio of exploding bolts into Sahrotaar's head.

The dragon snarled and unleashed a burst of fire breath in his direction, only a quick dive-roll to the side getting him out of harm's way. And then Lydia came charging in, roaring at the top of her lungs, and plunged her freezing sword deep into the dragon's flank. He trembled with the effort of maintaining his grip on a rapidly passing-out Delphine, but repeated strikes by the rest of them on the same area finally got him to break and release the Blade. She immediately crumpled to the ground as Sahrotaar took to the skies and turned back around to take another pass at them.

Scowling, Agmaer loaded a special bolt into his crossbow, this one made of pure dragonbone—an invention of Ketar's, point of fact. He took careful aim as he remembered the Dragonborn's words of warning when he'd been given this tool.

 _"Whatever you do, never—_ ever _—use this at anything near close range."_

Agmaer released a slow breath, steadying his aim and narrowing his one good eye while trying to pick out Sahrotaar against the darkened night sky. For some reason, the cloud cover had increased substantially since they joined the battle, and as a result, there was very little light to go on. With Sahrotaar's scales being black as night, he was difficult enough to see on the ground, much less in the air. Agmaer hissed and lowered his crossbow, trying and failing to pinpoint the dragon's location from the faint hums of his wingbeats. A savage roar sounded from above as Lydia and Brynjolf dragged Delphine's unconscious form toward a nearby boulder, trying to get to cover while under attack by cultists.

"Agmaer!" Brelyna shouted in desperation. "Tell me you have a shot!"

He hefted his crossbow and took aim once more, gritting his teeth in frustration. "I can't see him!"

He took and released a slow breath, trying to calm his nerves and see if that helped.

Then he saw it.

His eyes blinked—both of them—as his head tilted partway in curiosity. Slowly, with an uncertain frown, his right eye slipped shut. And then he just grinned. His crossbow came up, grip solidifying around its metal body as he angled it a little differently to take better aim—with his left eye.

"Agmaer!" called Brelyna in panic as the first Word of Sahrotaar's breath carried through the air.

The dragon was fast.

Agmaer's bolt was faster.

And about a split-second later, he suddenly understood why Ketar had said never to use that bolt at close range—and why it had to be made of dragonbone. Specifically, the bolt had so many destructive enchantments laid on it that any inferior material would've disintegrated long before completion. Needless to say, the resulting explosion not only knocked Sahrotaar out of the sky; it damn near blew out Agmaer's eardrums and sent him tumbling to the ground with the sheer force of the spell's backwash. His entire back was alight with the pain of armor impacting the rocks beneath him, but… _gods_ was that worth it.

 _So many colors…_

"Agmaer…Agmaer!"

Brelyna's frenzied calls reached him from her rapidly approaching form, the girl sliding to a crouch at his side and reaching out to hold his head, looking him over for damage.

"I-I'm okay," he stuttered, still not quite hearing properly. "That…was…" he grinned, " _awesome_!"

Brelyna gaped at the sluggish form of Sahrotaar, who was trying to recover. "How did you hit him? I thought you said you couldn't see." Her eyes widened when she looked back to Agmaer and gasped. "Y-Your eye."

He blinked. "Is something different?"

"…can't really tell too well, but I think it's…violet, and _glowing_."

"Huh…" Agmaer grunted as she helped him sit up, "almost like…magic."

She frowned. "Why do you say that?"

He smirked and pushed himself to his feet, retrieving his fallen crossbow. "Because I can see with it—sort of."

"Seriously? Do you have night-sight with it or something? Like a vampire?"

Agmaer's head shook as he smoothly reloaded his weapon and took aim on Sahrotaar, who was growling at him. He could've been growling at anyone, but he knew the dragon was focused on him because, well…

"I can see his Voice."

Brelyna's eyes went double-wide as she drew her katana. " _What_?!"

"Every time his _Thu'um_ builds in strength, like he's preparing to Shout, or just angry, I can see it with my left eye." Said aura flared in that eye's vision, prompting him to release another trio of bolts that imbedded themselves in the wyrm's wings. "Every time."

Brelyna huffed in awe and tilted her head, smiling as she prepared a spell in her off-hand. "That's…we're gonna have to thank Valerica for that."

He smirked and reloaded. "Later." He blinked as his vision flickered to his girlfriend, lips parting in surprise at the sight of her spellcasting hand. "Huh."

She glanced at him briefly. "What?"

His lips pursed, his attention refocusing on the dragon. "Just a theory for later."

…

"This—is not going the way we expected!"

Ketar exhaled sharply as he lunged away from another tail-swipe, Alduin's form moving even faster than he remembered as the World-Eater used his entire body to attack the heroes assaulting him.

"Well," the Dragonborn grunted, "what _did_ you expect?"

Hakon never got the chance to answer, because Alduin slashed his remaining talon across the Nord's chest and followed that up by goring him with the horn on the tip of his snout.

"Hakon!" called Gormlaith, rushing to his fallen body in desperation.

The woman raised her shield to block Alduin's advancing jaws, finding her arm yanked from its socket when the dragon's fangs snapped shut around the shield and his head retracted rapidly. She screamed in agony as she collapsed next to Hakon, Felldir the Old advancing on Alduin's side and unleashing his Voice.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!" called the elder Nord.

The wave of fire that bombarded Alduin's flank prompted the massive black dragon to snarl and whip his tail to the side, slamming the old man in the ribs. Yelling, Ketar rushed forth, sword in hand, and leapt for Alduin's right wing, aiming to carve a hole through the fleshy bits, but finding himself catapulted backward when that wing came up to knock him out of the air. The Dragonborn tumbled to the ground with a groan, using the point of his sword as an anchor to hoist himself upright using its hilt. Off in the distance, the World-Eater stalked toward the prone Gormlaith and unconscious Hakon, a ravenous, murderous look in his burning red eyes.

Ketar's wild blue eyes cast about for anything to turn to his advantage. Felldir was down, probably with broken ribs, Tsun couldn't interfere or he'd put the rescued souls at risk, and _he_ was barely staying on his feet. His teeth gritted.

 _Guess there's no choice, then._

Ketar stood upright, shoulders broad as Alduin approached his prey with wide jaws. " _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

The moment his Shout carried through the air, the World-Eater stopped short and snapped his attention to Ketar's flaming form, his silvery crown now adorned with ethereal dragon horns and eyes storming with a deadly fire. His sword was wreathed in the same blue-orange fire as the rest of his body, the tip dragging against the ground as he stalked toward Alduin. The dragon's eyes blazed with pure hatred when he turned to meet Ketar halfway, every step carrying him closer. At some point during the fight, Ketar's mail mask had fallen away, leaving his features exposed and his anger completely on display.

As the two _dovahhe_ stopped in front of each other, they sized each other up, Ketar with a curious tilt of the head, Alduin with incredulous rage.

"So he insults me further…by giving you this power," growled Alduin. "Or perhaps you learned it as Miraak did?"

"No," Ketar replied darkly, "I _earned_ this power, my birthright, by acknowledging and embracing my duties as Dragonborn, not forsaking them as both of you did." His head shook slowly. "You could have been so much more than what you are, Alduin, if you had just stayed the course."

He sneered. "Unlike you, subservience does not suit me."

"That was your _decision_ , not a fact. Your arrogance separated you from the origin of your power, and it's doomed you to this day. That's what separates you and Miraak…from me. You place yourself above those around you, stepping on their necks to push yourself further up, to make yourself more powerful. I stand on their shoulders, and when they're ready, I pull them up to stand in the sun _with_ me. I'm not going to win because I'm stronger or older or more experienced than you.

"I'm going to win because I know that I'm not all I have, because I earned the love and loyalty of those who follow me. That's why these heroes—" he motioned to the fallen Nords, "—came out here with me to do battle with you. That's why my wife has a half-dozen dear friends, _family_ , by any other name, rushing to her aid." He pointed at Alduin. "And you're here, facing me… _alone_."

They kept pacing around each other.

"I didn't buy my friends with fear or brutality or _mind_ control. Anyone who follows you under that context will promise you their blood to save their skins, but when push comes to shove, you will _always_ be alone." Ketar came to a stop, moving his other hand to grip the hilt of his sword and holding it out to the side. "Because a friend that despises you is just another knife waiting to be planted in your back." He slowly swept the blade of the Fury behind him, its flames licking at the ground as he curved it into the air. "I stand with our father, and he with me. _Meyz luft hin oblaan voth ahkrin_ , Alduin."

The World-Eater bared his fangs and roared, lunging forward and snapping his jaws at Ketar. The Dragonborn withdrew step by step, his every move precise and coordinated to the exact millisecond to keep him out of harm's way. Despite his confident air, even Ketar was shocked at how much his performance had increased. The previous times he'd used Dragon Aspect, there had been massive improvements in his abilities, but to be so fine-tuned, so at one with his higher draconic senses and reflexes…this was something different. Whatever the case, he was far from questioning as he parried and even shunted back Alduin's right talon, countering with a slash to his neck that was dodged and countered with another snap of his jaws.

Ketar held his sword out, far from his body, his left hand braced against the blade as his right grasped the hilt, the weapon used as a bit of sorts to keep Alduin back when his jaws clamped down around it. The dragon pushed forward, Ketar's feet skidding through the dirt, but he himself wasn't giving an inch. Point of fact, he still had strength to spare, and he intended to use every scrap of it. With a rising growl, Ketar pivoted his hips and body to the left, twisting his sword and effectively using Alduin's momentum against him to throw the dragon into an end-over-end roll. Despite the elation of his small victory, he could feel an unexplainable worry nagging at him.

So, while Alduin was recovering, Ketar used the opportunity to call Durnehviir in the space next to him.

The World-Eater sneered. "Are you so weak that you must call on others to die for you?"

Ketar glared at him briefly. "He's not here for you." He returned his attention to the undead dragon, who was, for some reason, apprehensive to be face-to-face with Alduin. "Durnehviir, listen to me. Sera's been kidnapped, and she's fighting off her attackers with some help, but I need you to go check on her." He slipped his mithril wedding ring off and handed it to Durnehviir. "Use this. I linked a tracking spell to hers, so you should be able to trace it to her position. Can you get there from here?"

The dragon looked around in brief disorientation before nodding. "I believe so, yes."

Ketar nodded to him. "Then go." He hefted the Fury once more, facing off with Alduin. "I'll take care of this."

Moments later, Durnehviir took off and vanished in an explosion of violet light, leaving Ketar to face his eldest brother alone.

….

Serana slid to a stop, her lungs heaving for breath as her opponent did the same. Her beautiful ebony sword was notched, in more places than one, and her Elven stiletto lay in pieces on the ground, the result of the weapon taking the full impact of Miraak's Unrelenting Force. They were both bleeding from various wounds inflicted all over their bodies, but for some reason, Serana's injuries weren't healing at all. Undoubtedly, that was at least in part because all of those wounds were made with his sword, which was so many kinds of wrong she couldn't even describe it.

It made her nauseous just to _look_ at it.

She'd had to shift from vampire lord to human form and back several times by now just to give him a smaller target, and at present, she was in human form. The First Dragonborn and the heir of Clan Volkihar sized each other up, trying to gauge the weaknesses brought about by their respective injuries.

"I can see," Miraak said a little breathlessly, "why he chose you."

Serana's upper lip twitched. "He didn't choose me…for _this_. He chose me…" she jabbed a thumb into her chest, into the space over her heart, "for _this_."

Miraak sighed as he readjusted his grip on his sword. "Young and hopelessly in love…I envy you, in a way."

He lunged forward with several long-range stabs, Serana deflecting them with some effort and countering with an ice spike cast at his chest. Miraak summoned a ward a little too late, both it and the spike shattering on contact, the backwash of the spell's explosion sending him stumbling back a few steps. Serana dashed toward him, her sword thrusting toward the opening she'd created, but while Miraak's body was left exposed, his Voice still worked just fine.

" _Yol_!"

Her eyes widened and she tried to change course, but was already too far committed to shift her momentum. As a result, she took the brunt of just one Word of Miraak's fire breath—but it was enough. Almost more than she could take. Serana shrieked and screamed, writhing around in pain as she desperately tried to put herself out. Miraak took advantage of this to stalk toward her, his sword lashing at her with shallow, glancing cuts meant to slow, not kill. Agony rapidly crawled up every inch of her body, sending her tumbling to the ground after what felt like minutes, but was mere seconds.

Finally, the flames had been smothered, and she was no longer at risk of being reduced to ash—not directly, anyway. At present, Miraak was standing over her triumphant, his sword held high and aiming to thrust directly into the heart she'd just motioned to; and she was completely disarmed. Snarling, Serana shifted to vampire lord form, her hands coming together right as he stabbed down and stopping the blade in its tracks. The sickly green metal gouged deep gashes into her fingers, but she grit her teeth and held on all the same, growling and pivoting to the side to send the sword-point stabbing into the ground instead.

A sideways lunge took advantage of the moment as she raked her claws across Miraak's side, pulling a cry of pain from his throat. His left hand clutched the weeping gashes as he pulled his sword free and whirled to face her. Baring her teeth, Serana growled and sank to a crouch for a brief moment before she vanished from existence altogether. Or, at least, that's what it looked like. In reality, she was using her vampire blood to effectively bend the light around her body, making herself completely invisible to the naked eye. However, Miraak could still hear her, the heavy footfalls and fluttering wingbeats.

He swung his blade around several times, nearly cutting her more than once, but still couldn't nail down her location. Finally, between the chaotic battle still going on in the background and a little clever maneuvering, she'd managed to get into Miraak's blind spot, an angle even _he_ would be hard-pressed to defend if he didn't see an attack coming. And he wouldn't.

Or so she thought.

A split-second before lunging forward, Serana's vampire hearing picked up something coming from his mouth, barely a whisper, but she heard just enough to decipher the words.

 _"_ Laas-Yah-Nir. _"_

Her eyes went wide, her wings beating faster as she stabbed for his back with all her claws at once. She didn't get halfway there before stopping in her tracks, sputtering and gasping for air. Her body shimmered with the spectrum of light being bent around it until finally, it resolved into her winged, armored form. She looked down to see a giant vertical hole rent in her magical armor—and the shaft of Miraak's sword plunged straight through her gut. Because of the last-minute nature of his strike, Miraak had missed her heart—barely—but the blade had still pierced a critical area. Specifically, one of her lungs.

And with the way that sword was limiting her healing, Serana suddenly realized, in the middle of the pervasive agony, that she was in very, _very_ big trouble.

Miraak released a few labored breaths before chuckling darkly. "Gotcha."

He yanked his sword free, ripping a scream from Serana's throat as she slowly shifted back to human form and collapsed to the ground back-first. She gasped for air as he stalked over to her, her glowing eyes darting about for someone, _anyone_ to come to her aid. The bond with her mother lay dormant and silent, a surefire hint that Valerica had somehow been rendered unconscious. She'd heard Delphine go down at some point before Sahrotaar had been quadruple-teamed. Brelyna and Agmaer were still battling the dragon, and Lydia and Brynjolf were struggling to take down the dominated cultists without killing them.

Serana was completely and utterly alone…and Miraak knew it.

He drew back his sword in one hand, same as before. "Out of respect for your abilities, I'll make this quick."

He froze when a familiar roar split the night, and from the thick cloud cover descended a familiar winged form. The ground shook as Durnehviir touched down in his full rotting glory—something Serana had never been so happy to see in her life.

Miraak whirled toward the dragon, who was eyeing him like a wolf considers a lone elk. And he laughed. "Are you joking? Ketar sends another of his dragon allies to defy me? Hasn't he learned by now?"

Serana's eyes widened when she got his meaning, voice calling out desperately. "Durnehviir! Run!"

" _Gol-Hah-Dov_!"

The opalescent arcs of Miraak's Shout washed over Durnehviir's form, slowly dying down the same way they had when Odahviing had been struck.

Miraak was just shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Although this actually works out for the best. After all," he turned to Serana, a malevolent glee in his voice, "what better way to teach that arrogant fool a lesson…than to kill his wife with one of his own allies? Durnehviir, was it? Destroy her. And make it last."

Serana's heart sank as quickly as it had been lifted, her previous despair returning even as her eyes pleaded with the approaching dragon. Something profoundly sad entered the eyes of the undead dragon, his head cocking to one side as he met Serana's gaze.

And then there was only anger, an icy-cold rage that sent his jowls curling in a snarl and a growl through his chest.

Miraak understood what that meant a moment later, when Durnehviir's jaws clamped down on his entire left side, and his body was whipped around like a ragdoll before being hurled thirty feet into the side of a boulder. Durnehviir glared at him murderously, head rearing up and releasing a long, drawn-out roar that nearly shattered Serana's eardrums.

"H-How?" gasped the Dragonborn.

Durnehviir's replying tone was laced with nothing less than pure hatred. "I have spent the last eternity enslaved to ones such as you, constantly fighting against their control. Now that I serve the one who liberated my will, do you really think I'll let it be taken again by the likes of _you_?!"

Durnehviir advanced on Miraak's form as he scrambled to get distance between them, lifting his voice in desperation.

"Sahrotaar!"

Within seconds, heavy wingbeats could be heard, and in his blind rage, Durnehviir failed to see the attack coming. Well, not so much an attack as a rough landing. More accurately, Sahrotaar used Durnehviir's head as a landing post for his rear paws, then flapped his wings and carried Miraak away in the same. Their darkened forms quickly grew smaller and smaller until they were just black dots in the distance. Durnehviir growled at their flight for a few moments before turning back to Serana and rushing to her side.

"Dur…neh…viir," she gasped, feeling the blood seeping into her punctured lung.

"Try not to speak," he said gravely, before roaring at the rest of their allies.

The four conscious ones rushed over in a hurry. Apparently the cultists had all passed out once Miraak left the battlefield—good to know.

"Oh… _oh_ ," Lydia cried as soon as she saw Serana.

The Nord woman immediately dropped her weapons and collapsed to her knees at Serana's side, her shoulders heaving in panic as she gingerly reached out to inspect the vampire's broken body.

"S'not…as bad as it looks," Serana managed with a crooked smile.

"Shut—up."

Lydia was in tears, Brynjolf stooping at her side and retracting his Nightingale mask.

"Oh, lass…"

Agmaer was on Serana's opposite side, turning to a wide-eyed Brelyna. "Lyn…please tell me you know something that can help."

"I-I-I don't know. Vampires are pretty much _immune_ to restoration spells, and I…this is beyond my skill to heal."

"Come on! Don't tell me that!" Agmaer's voice was cracking in desperation. "There has to be something we can do! If Lady Valerica were…" he winced, "damn it!"

Serana gulped past a bubble of blood in her throat. "F-Feed."

Lydia's eyes widened. "That's right—blood. Blood will help her regenerate." She made to pull off her right gauntlet, exposing her wrist.

"W-Won't work," Serana gasped. "Dragon…blood."

All eyes went to Durnehviir, who frowned and shook his head. "My body is largely necrotic, much like hers. I doubt my blood would retain enough of my pure brothers' virtue to help her."

Lydia's eyes flickered with understanding. "The caches. One of us needs to get a vial of Ketar's blood from the caches." She grabbed Brynjolf's shoulder. "The one near Kynesgrove—you know where it is, right?"

"Yes, of course, but that's miles away. I'll never make it in—"

"You will on my back," Durnehviir interrupted.

Brynjolf's lips pursed as he nodded sharply and rushed to mount up. "I'll be back soon, lass. Just hold on. _Please_ hold on."

Serana nodded weakly as she wheezed for breath, blinking when she found Lydia's wrist still in front of her face. She smiled up at the teary-eyed woman. "Lydia…not gonna work…"

"It'll do _something_ , dammit! At the very least, it'll keep you alive until he gets back." Lydia's reddened eyes flashed with something akin to anger, but what Sera knew was determination. "Just drink already!"

Reluctantly, Serana brought her fangs to Lydia's wrist and pierced her skin as gently as possible. As expected, the wound wasn't sealing shut, but whatever was suppressing her regeneration was held at bay by the influx of fresh blood. On reflection, it didn't seem that the effects of Miraak's sword were suppressing her regeneration as much as constantly eating away at her body. She absently wondered if it was a reaction specific to vampire physiology or all of his victims, but quickly realized that she had more important things to focus on. Namely, keeping her dying body together long enough for Brynjolf to return with Ketar's life-saving blood.

She had promised that man a honeymoon, after all…and she was damned if she wasn't going to give it to him.

…

Ketar's exhausted body screamed in protest as it was hurled twenty feet onto the peak of Alduin's mountain perch, the flat plateau at the top allowing him to roll to a stop, aches permeating every inch of his form. His Dragon Aspect (and his crown) had been lost at some point while he was in the air, being carried in Alduin's grasp by his arms, which the World-Eater had nearly managed to rip from their sockets. Instead, Ketar had slashed his left paw and gotten Alduin to drop him onto the peak of the mountain, where he was now scrambling to climb to his feet. Once again, he used the sword as a means of propping himself up, his natural exhaustion pairing with the side effect of the Aspect leeching away.

The ground shook as Alduin landed some fifty feet away from him, chest puffed out arrogantly as he looked down on the Dragonborn.

Ketar couldn't help but smile, a bloody grimace threatening to take over his features. "You know…I'm kinda surprised you haven't recognized my sword." He tapped it against the ground tip-first, leaning on it heavily. "You should."

Alduin's red eyes narrowed as he eyed the black blade. "And why is that?"

Ketar gulped and took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand on his own as he held the sword upright in both hands, his eyes tracing its surface. "Because I made a promise when I forged it." His gaze locked onto Alduin. "To one day return this blade to its source." He began pacing toward Alduin, letting the sword hang at his side and drag against the rocks. "Until now, I have called it ' _Nah'Dovahkiin_ ,' a symbol of my fury at the injustice that plagues this world. But after today…I will call it by its true name…" he hefted the sword into a two-handed grip, eyes flashing with fire, "' _Feyn'Alduin_ '—Alduin's Bane."

The World-Eater's red eyes blazed with murderous fire, rage shaking his entire form as he roared his answer. "The _arrogance_!"

Ketar took a deep breath, focusing the power inside him and laying every scrap of his remaining strength on one final effort. " _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

His form exploded with light as once again, his Dragon Aspect activated. But this time was even more different than the last, and like the fall of a meteor, he came to a startling realization: the Armor of Auriel truly was just that. The ethereal arcs of his dragon armor were linked and looped around the mithril plates of his solid armor, so closely in-sync that his head, now crown and hoodless, was devoid of any sort of protection. Honestly, that suited him just fine.

Alduin roared and charged toward him, the Dragonborn waiting until the last second to twist away, spinning with his blade and carving a line through the dragon's neck like it was made of cheap cork. He growled and snapped at Ketar's body, getting a blade to the face for his trouble as his smaller opponent kept up the pressure. Ketar leapt for him with a falling strike, the blow glancing off Alduin's right talon as he backed up and parried, countering with a left wing-thrust that Ketar slid under. The Dragonborn slashed up on his way past, perforating Alduin's left wing and following that with a spinning downward strike at his tail.

In retaliation, Alduin snapped his tail toward Ketar's head, aiming to take it off in one blow. He ducked and dodged under it, making an identical cut on the opposite side of his body and pirouetting into a spiraling slash that rent Alduin's right wing as well. The World-Eater bellowed in rage, twisting his entire body faster than Ketar could move and slamming him with the wider end of his tail. The Dragonborn went flying, only his ethereal armor saving him from being crushed as his sword was thrown from his grasp.

He rolled to a stop some thirty feet from Alduin's maw, the blade forged from his ancient enemy's talon sitting too far away for physical retrieval. Seeing this, the World-Eater advanced, rearing up his head to snap downward—and leaving his heart completely exposed. With a burst of telekinetic energy and a growl of righteous fury, Ketar recalled his enchanted blade and spun clockwise as it returned to his grasp, throwing the sword in a thrusting toss that sent it spinning into Alduin's chest. Alduin roared as the remains of his own talon pierced his scaly hide, thrashing about and trying to claw it free with his other talon.

All that told Ketar was that it hadn't gone deep enough to pierce his heart. So he sprinted forth and lifted his Voice.

" _Wuld-Nah-Kest_!"

Alduin's attention rapidly shifted to the furious Dragonborn as he sped across the peak at the speed of sound, his magic-encased body slamming into Alduin's with bone-crushing force and sending them both flying from the peak. The _dovahhe_ tumbled in free-fall, Ketar holding onto Alduin's scales as tightly as he could, not even noticing the way his dragon armor began to shift in texture and color. A few moments in, he reached up, trying to grasp the hilt of his sword, but found himself dislodged when Alduin smacked him with one of his wings, Ketar shaking himself off and angling his body to dive toward the dragon's falling form.

Alduin saw him coming and took a breath as Ketar readied a ward.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

White-hot fire licked all around him, his cloak billowing with the rush of air and heat as he readied his own Shout to prevent Alduin from slipping away. " _Joor-Zah -Frul_!"

Alduin roared and thrashed around, trying impotently to stop or at least slow his fall. He couldn't so much as flip himself over, and as such, fell back-first toward the rapidly-approaching ground. Ketar dove headfirst toward the _dovah_ , dodging the frenzied whips of his tail and swipes of his wings to aim straight for his head while all around him, his ethereal dragon armor turned from blue-orange to pure white flame. Alduin's eyes widened at the sight as Ketar growled and bared his teeth, his armored fists striking the dragon in the snout, the cheek, the jaw. A double-fisted smash sent Alduin's head snapping downward, and one in the opposite direction left his neck completely exposed.

A stream of powerful electricity surged along the length of the World-Eater's wounded neck, every one of his previous injuries alight with agony. Alduin retaliated by hitting him with his wing once again, but Ketar saw it coming and braced himself with both arms held up in defense. The effect was to send him flying a few dozen feet out to the side, a fact he remedied by whipping a magical tether around Alduin's maw like a muzzle before he could Shout, then using that point of contact to swing back toward him and around his underside. The arc ended with Ketar slamming into his lower chest feet-first, with force enough to wind the dragon.

Shoulders heaving with every breath, the Last Dragonborn clawed his way to his sword, to Alduin's Bane, and placed his right hand on the pommel, his left grasping the hilt. Both feet braced against the chest of the midnight-black wyrm, his grip tightening as a furious roar built in his chest, releasing when he put his entire body weight into the sword's hilt and drove it down like a blade returning to its rightful sheath. Alduin's entire body tensed and seized for just a moment, his red eyes and jaw wide in shock as their gazes met for one long moment.

And then Ketar looked to the side to see the ground rapidly approaching, and he released the sword to launch himself from Alduin's chest with one final roar of triumph, hands grasping the edges of his cape and spreading it for maximum effect. So focused was he on surviving the fall that he never saw what Alduin did: Ketar, wreathed in white flame that engulfed his entire body in the form of a dragon—his legs in scaled hide and paws, his head in the horned visage of a great wyrm, and his arms and cloak in the proud, regal wings of a true _dovah_. The impact of Alduin's pierced body on the endless fields of Sovngarde made a crater so momentous, it cracked the very base of the mountain down the middle.

Ketar, for his part, alit on those fields with a crouch and barely a whisper, his cloak falling and folding around him like black wings as he released a long, steady breath. He slowly straightened upright and strode toward Alduin's head and his sword, the dragon's body having tilted to one side after landing. A frown overtook his lips as his eyes met Alduin's, shining with sadness and a modest degree of compassion.

"Alduin," he said softly. "I hope you find the peace in death…that you never could in life. _Aal faal Gein'kiin do_ Akatosh _bo wah ok laat praan_ …" he bowed deeply, and not at all mockingly, " _zu'zeymah_."

Alduin, the World-Eater and subjugator of man, stared at Ketar with eyes that were all but unreadable. In their depths was a fierce loathing of the weakness of man, a respect and resentment of power…and a profound regret seldom seen in most _humans_. In that moment, Ketar felt that, perhaps, if Alduin had met him instead of Miraak, or they had been born together, grown up together, that maybe, _maybe_ …they might have been friends. Slowly, as Ketar drew his sword from the one whose bane it now rightly was, Alduin's eyes slipped shut, the hate in their red depths gone forever, and his body faded and burnt into nothingness, not a single trace of it or his soul left behind.

Honestly, Ketar preferred it that way. If Miraak's memories were enough to have him sobbing on his knees, he could only _imagine_ what absorbing Alduin's experiences would do to him. As he stood there in the aftermath of his most difficult and powerful conquest, Ketar's mind flowed blank, a nagging feeling far in the back of his head, but distant enough that he could breathe and exist in peace, just for a moment. His trance was broken when an explosion of golden light erupted in the space before him, and his eyes widened as the draconic avatar of Akatosh emerged from its depths.

"Father," he said, for some reason feeling the need to kneel.

"Rise, my son, for your quest is finished, and the prophecy fulfilled."

Ketar did so and faced him, sword in hand and braced tip-first against the ground. "So…what happens now?" Suddenly, he remembered what the nagging feeling was trying to tell him and surged forward, panic in his voice. "Serana, is she—"

"Alive, for now." Akatosh blinked and frowned. "But you must return home with all speed if you wish to save her."

Ketar glanced around for a portal, for anything that could help.

"I will assist you in this," Akatosh assured him, "but first you must listen. Your campaign against the World-Eater may be finished, but the First Dragonborn yet lives. Until he is defeated for good, Tamriel will never be safe…and neither will you."

He frowned and nodded. "I understand."

"To that end, I've left a gift for you, in the Underforge of the Companions' Skyforge. You and the smith will know what to do with it, as you did with that sword."

Ketar glanced down at his weapon.

Akatosh smiled down on him. "I am… _truly_ proud of you, my son. Never forget that."

Off in the distance, Ketar heard the shouts and cheers of the dead souls he'd befriended, of Torygg and the three wounded heroes, and even Maul. He smiled and held up his hand in victory, making their cheers ring out even louder. A few more moments passed before he frowned and returned his attention to Akatosh.

"Send me back."

The great dragon bowed his head. "Right away. _Nahl-Daal-Vus_!"

…

An explosion of blinding light pierced Ketar's vision as slowly but surely, his new surroundings began to make sense. The dozen-plus dragons flying around the Throat of the World, up and around him, made significantly _less_ sense. That is, until a faithful old mentor stepped in.

"So, it is done."

Ketar blinked and whipped his head around to stare at a familiar silver-winged dragon. "Paarthurnax."

The old dragon bowed his head slightly. "Alduin _dilon_. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been."

He frowned and sighed. "I know. I…took no pleasure from doing it."

Paarthurnax grunted. "I find that difficult to believe, considering the pain and humiliation you suffered on this very peak…" his head cocked as he looked Ketar over appraisingly, "but it would appear you are no longer the same _Dovahkiin_ who looked through the _Tiid-Ahraan_." Paarthurnax bowed his head in respect.

Ketar bowed slightly in return, then turned his eyes and one finger toward the sky. "Um, explain?"

Paarthurnax grunted and nodded at the formations of chanting dragons, many of them calling out Alduin's name. "Many disgruntled _dovahhe_ who chafed under Alduin's rule have gathered here, at the peak of Nirn, to acknowledge both his death and the _Thu'um_ of the one who slew him. I would use this opportunity to perhaps show them a better path. Whether they are willing to follow it, they will hear of my _Thu'um_." He turned back to Ketar with a smile. "You have won a mighty victory this day, one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, _Dovahkiin_. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of time. _Goraan_! I feel younger than I have in many an age."

Ketar lurched forward as the old dragon took to the skies. "No, wait! Paarthurnax!"

He exhaled slowly, sighing hard as his shoulders sagged. He stood ramrod straight when he felt the crash of a dragon landing behind him, whirling around to see Odahviing's red-scaled, melancholy features.

" _Dovahkiin_ …I have failed you."

Ketar strode toward him slowly.

"Miraak—his Voice—"

"I know," he interrupted softly, sheathing the Fu—sheathing Alduin's Bane as he placed a hand on Odahviing's neck. "I'm sorry; I should've warned you."

The dragon eyed him confusedly, but Ketar just shook his head.

"Later. Right now, you need to take me to Serana. Do you remember where they are?"

Odahviing nodded and leaned down, offering his neck. Moments later, they were riding the air currents as fast as the snowy-winged dragon could take them.

…

Serana gently released her grip on Agmaer's wrist, the other two present paler than they'd been a few minutes ago, as they'd insisted she feed on all of them. As expected, the best they'd been able to give her was holding action, and Brynjolf and Durnehviir still weren't back yet. Valerica and Delphine had regained consciousness, and were currently bent over her ailing form, but for all her talents, the vampire matron had never _seen_ a pureblood vampire in such bad shape, and Delphine was already weak enough without being drained of blood. All they could do now was wait and hope.

Serana gulped, still struggling for breath, and cast a look at all of them. "How—how'd you all know where to find me?"

Valerica cast a small glare at Lydia, who looked away sheepishly. "Do you want to tell her? Or should I?"

Lydia winced. "Ketar…sent us to follow you. Just Brynjolf and me, mind you. Not…everyone else."

Serana frowned. "Then…how—"

"How'd we all get here at once? Well, Delphine noticed us whispering to each other, and she told Valerica, and Valerica is a snoop, so she eavesdropped on us and found out Miraak was back, and—"

Sera's eyes flew wide open. "Wait—you _knew_?!" Her increased volume sent her into spasms and coughs.

Valerica put a gentle hand on Serana's chest to steady her. "Ketar knew, and he told them."

She blinked in confusion.

"The Greybeards Shouted his title a few days before the wedding," Lydia explained. "Apparently, he'd given that Frea girl specific instructions to send a messenger to the Greybeards if anything unusual were to happen on Solstheim. Like, say, a whole lot of people falling back into a trance and resuming work on the temple."

Serana cringed and squeezed her eyes shut. "And he kept that to himself…"

"He knew that their call could only mean one thing, but…he didn't want to put things on hold any longer, and he didn't want you to worry."

"Oh Kay…" Her eyes pricked as frustration and pity warred within her.

"But he knew you probably wouldn't be able to follow him into Sovngarde, and he didn't want to leave you unprotected, so—"

"So he had those two follow Odahviing," Valerica finished in an irritated tone. "All without warning you, or anyone else, of the danger. Naturally, when I found out, I insisted we _all_ go." Her jaw clenched. "And I'm very glad I did. That boy and I are going to have some words when he gets back… _if_ he gets back."

Serana glared. " _Mother_."

Valerica gave her a reprimanding look. "I know you love him, Serana, but I take issue with those who gamble with my daughter's life."

"He—didn't," she gasped. "Had…faith in me."

"Faith or no, he pit you and those two idiots against an ancient Dragonborn with an axe to grind!"

"No," answered a quiet voice from the side.

Valerica turned her attention and no small amount of ire to Agmaer. " _No_?"

His head shook slowly. "I may have my disagreements with Ketar and the way he does things, but there is one thing I know for sure, and it's that he would never, _ever_ put Serana at risk. He knows all of us, in some cases better than we know ourselves." His lips pursed tightly. "Ten to one odds he knew Delphine would notice Lydia and Brynjolf whispering, and tell you. Because he knows how much you love your daughter, he _expected_ you to eavesdrop and confront them about it. And of course, because we're there and we _all_ care for her, you'd insist they bring all of us along as backup. And then there's Durnehviir."

Valerica blinked. "Durnehviir?"

Lydia nodded. "He flew in and stopped Miraak when he was about to kill her. He only ever answers to Ketar's call."

The vampire matron's eyes narrowed. "And Miraak didn't dominate him?"

"Couldn't," Serana croaked. "Will…too strong." She smirked. "Like mine."

Valerica gripped her hand tightly, jaw tight. "Then why not tell you?"

"'Cause…he was right. I'd have worried. Would've…ruined the wedding." Serana fell into another fit of sharp coughs. "And he knew I could handle it. Should've seen…the pride on his face…when I broke o—"

She was cut off by a fit of violent coughing, and this time, there was no end in sight. The wild, frightened look on her mother's face would forever be etched into her memory. As would the desperate cries that came from the sky moments after the fit began.

"Sera! _Sera_!"

Like an angel descending to bring life to the downtrodden, Ketar flew from the clouds on the black wings of his cloak, his silvery armor gleaming like the moons that pierced the clouds through the gap his body had made. Odahviing followed through a moment later, making that gap even wider as he circled their party and landed. Ketar paid him no mind, and sprinted to her side the moment his feet touched the ground, sliding to a stop with his eyes wide with terror and grief. The mail around his neck was torn off and disposed of as he leaned down and gently tilted her head up.

With a quiet sigh of relief, she sank her fangs into his flesh, her lungs gasping and surging with life-giving oxygen as the cursed wound in her chest was purged of its impurities with the cleansing fire of his dragon blood. Serana's eyes slipped shut as she held him with the strength rapidly returning to her body. Frenzied footfalls came from the side as she sensed another presence approach, his breathless voice piercing the night.

"Oh thank the gods."

"Bryn—where have you _been_?" demanded Lydia.

"Sorry, lass. The moment Durnehviir touched down at the cache, he vanished. I think it was takin' everything he had just to hold on during the flight. I had to hoof it all the way back here."

Slowly, as Serana felt the last traces of damage seal shut, she released Ketar's neck and kissed the puncture marks closed. Her husband drew back just far enough for her to see the tears in his eyes. She smiled and reached up to brush them away.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You saved me…again."

His head shook, face twisting in grief and shame as his voice trembled. "I wasn't—I wasn't here."

"But you were. You sent Durnehviir…and all of them."

Ketar sniffed and nodded, sending Valerica a look of pure penitence. By the look on the matron's face, even _she_ couldn't be mad at him when he was like this.

"He saved me." Sera chuckled painfully. "Gave Miraak a good chomping…before the bastard flew off."

Ketar blinked and stared at her, a strange look in his eyes as his lips pursed tightly. Suddenly, he handed Serana to her mother and stood up, striding out into a more open section of the field and releasing his last Shout of the night.

" _Dur-Neh-Viir_!"

The familiar explosion of violet light quickly gave way to the undead dragon himself, whose eyes immediately locked onto Serana's recovering form.

His features and body sagged in relief when he verified her health. "Then my efforts were not in vain."

Ketar's hands were trembling as he faced the dragon. "Durnehviir…my friend…you saved what matters most to me in this world." His jaw worked, his voice cracking. "I am _forever_ in your debt."

Durnehviir's head bowed. "I was glad to serve, _thuri_."

His head shook slowly. "No…no, this is…" he grimaced, "she would be _dead_ …if you hadn't stepped in." Ketar straightened up, his voice hardening. "To repay such a debt…there is only one way." He raised his voice so all present could hear clearly. "I will, by any means necessary, liberate you from the Soul Cairn, from undeath and service of the Ideal Masters."

Nearly every jaw present dropped at that, including Durnehviir's.

Ketar placed a fist over his heart, eyes firm. "So I swear on this day, on my life and my honor as Dragonborn."

The field was utterly silent for almost a full minute, until Valerica stood up and faced them.

"And _I_ will help him," she said.

Lydia snorted as she and Brynjolf helped Serana stand. "Screw that noise. We're _all_ in, Durny."

The dragon arched an eyebrow at her nickname, but bowed his head all the same, overcome with emotion. "Truly…no _dovah_ has ever known such stalwart friends."

Ketar smiled. "Have you already forgotten? _Zu'u_ _Dovahkiin_ , _zu'zeymah_. We aren't friends, Durnehviir."

He placed a hand on the dragon's muzzle as several others did the same.

"We're _family_."

* * *

AN: Drop the mic! Oh, did I say this was the final battle? Sorry, I meant the final battle against Alduin, in the main quest. Miraak is nowhere near done. But seriously though. This whole arc was an absolute pleasure to write, for a number of reasons, not the least of which Ketar's final confrontation with Alduin. I wrote… _most_ of this in one day, which is to say, a _lot_ , so…yeah, I don't really think I'm gonna comment too much on this chapter. Just let it speak for itself. Have fun picking it apart, guys.

Oh—I will say—Durnehviir not being affected by Bend Will? That's in-game. You can't use it on him, for some reason. I kept thinking about it, and the more I did, the more I realized—the Ideal Masters couldn't break his will over however many ages he served them. One Shout from Miraak wouldn't be near enough to do it.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

TES V: Skyrim – Sovngarde: Ketar's declaration to Tsun/entering the Hall/meeting the heroes/the Hall cheers

Wonder Woman – Action Reaction: start-1:02—"Let me let you two…"/bat explosion, 1:02-end—Ketar vs. Alduin/Serana vs. Miraak/heroes on Nirn and in Sovngarde

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword – The Power of Excalibur: start-0:53—Ketar on Alduin's mountain/Ketar's promise/" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!", 0:53-1:27—Alduin's charge/sword-dance/tail hit/exposed heart, 1:27-2:16—sword-throw/tumble from the peak/midair duel/christening Alduin's Bane, 2:16-2:27—eye contact/white dragon/impact, 2:27-end—saying goodbye/Akatosh's blessing/return to Nirn

Dragon language translations:

" _mey'jul_ " – foolish woman

" _Meyz luft hin oblaan voth ahkrin_ , Alduin." – Come face your end with courage, Alduin.

" _Aal faal Gein'kiin do_ Akatosh _bo wah ok laat praan_ … _zu'zeymah_." – May the Firstborn of Akatosh fly to his final rest…my brother.

"Alduin _dilon_." – Alduin is dead.

" _Tiid-Ahraan_ _" –_ Time-Wound

 _"Goraan_ _" –_ unknown, possibly some form of jubilant declaration

 _"Zu'u_ _Dovahkiin_ , _zu'zeymah_ _." –_ I am Dragonborn, my brother.


	19. The Last Dragonborn, Part I

It was a quiet rumble that snapped Ketar from his studies in the Arch-Mage's tower of the College of Winterhold, for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past few days. Quiet only because there were several layers of rock and metal between him and the source. An exasperated groan came from his throat as he snapped shut the book he was reading and ran down the steps to push his way into the courtyard, where a massive red dragon was attempting to explain himself to a half-dozen new, overeager apprentices who were preparing to curse him with every spell in their repertoire.

"Stand down!" he shouted, getting everyone's attention. His arms splayed out and eyes widened in exasperation. "Odahviing, whatcha doing? I _told_ you to stop landing here."

The dragon faced him with a contrite expression. "Apologies, _thuri_. I simply wished to check on how Lady Serana was fa—"

"She's _fine_ , and she hasn't gotten any _less_ fine since the last five times you've asked. She's just resting."

Odahviing sighed. "That is a relief to hear."

Ketar rolled his eyes and gave the dragon a deadpan glare. "Odahviing, I already told you: stop feeling guilty about it. There was literally nothing you could've done that you didn't. Miraak overrode your will with his. No way around that."

"But if I had been stronger—"

" _Odahviing_ ," he interrupted firmly. Ketar sighed at the startled look on the dragon's face. "Protecting Serana is my responsibility, and I failed to equip you well enough to hand that role off. I'm the one who should be apologizing." He placed a hand on the dragon's muzzle. "Go home." He smirked. "Stop freaking the apprentices out."

Odahviing chuckled and bowed his head before flapping his wings and returning to the sky with a parting call. After he was gone, Ketar's features flipped to a frown, and he hurried back inside to return to his books. A few minutes of mind-numbing study later, soft, padded steps were heard from behind, and a pair of slender arms went around his chest, pulling a sigh from his throat.

"Hey. You're working too hard."

Ketar rolled his eyes. "Sera, this is a very complicated subject, even with your mother helping me out."

"I'm aware, but working for sixteen straight hours is hazardous to _anyone's_ health, even yours. Take a break."

He sent her a pleading look.

Her glowing eyes rolled as she slumped her body over his shoulder.

"Sera…"

"Fine, I get it. This is important work, I know." She smiled and straightened up. "But I would like to see my husband at some point tonight."

Ketar chuckled and leaned up to kiss her. "You will. I just need to finish this last section of notes and I'll be right there."

Serana smiled wider and kissed him again. "Okay."

She turned away and strode back toward the corner separating the Arch-Mage's study from his personal chambers. Just out of his sight, a devious smirk came to her lips as she toyed with the sash of her robe, pausing in the doorway and turning back to face him.

"One more thing."

Ketar hummed distractedly, his quill scribbling on a sheet of parchment for a few moments before he realized she hadn't continued. Then he turned his head to face her and suddenly found his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets. Mainly because she'd untied the sash of her robe and dropped it on the floor behind her, revealing she hadn't a stitch of clothing on underneath. He couldn't do a thing except stare at her dumbly, mouth open at the sight of her and the teasing smile on her face.

"Just in case you need a little…" she arched her back slightly, as if to stretch out, " _incentive_."

And then she turned around and bent over to retrieve her discarded robe, slinging it over her shoulder and sauntering out of the room with her hips swaying. Ketar's eyes were glued to her rear the whole way out. The moment she was out of sight, he turned back to his desk, eyes still wider than usual and heart hammering in his chest. His mouth was completely dry, and every time he tried to read another line from his tome, the words blurred together. Eventually, he leaned back and slowly wiped a hand over his eyes, dragging it down his face and releasing a slow, hissing breath as the need to study warred with the need to—

His eyes rolled and his quill hit the desk a moment later as he threw it down and stormed after her in frustration. He found Serana in the tower's bedchambers a mere thirty seconds later, with her robe back on, about to climb under the covers. He intercepted her before she could and pinned her to the wall chest-first, his lips next to her ear.

"That was some dirty pool, love," he whispered throatily.

She grinned and sent him a smoky look over her shoulder. "I never claimed to be playing fair."

Ketar flipped her around, the vampire grinning at him with a mix of playfulness and ravenous hunger. His eyes narrowed in predatory aggression. She flashed him her fangs.

Needless to say, no more work was to be had that night.

…

"So…ideas?"

Valerica frowned at Brelyna's question as she looked Agmaer over. "None in specific, except that the procedure was untested and therefore prone to side effects. This, however, is something completely unexpected." She leaned back and released him, placing a hand on her chin. "To see the currents of any magic so clearly…" her head shook, "it baffles the mind. If nothing else, this should prove that even centuries of experience can leave gaps in one's knowledge."

Agmaer frowned a little. "Could there be any adverse effects?"

"Hard to say this early. I wouldn't think so, but again, this was an experimental procedure, and it took over a week for this ability to manifest. Keep an eye on it, but I wouldn't worry too much."

Brelyna smiled and nodded her thanks, then turned to a rising Agmaer. "Well, if nothing else, you've got a really cool pair of eyes now."

He arched an eyebrow at her, smirking. His smile faded as he turned to Valerica. "How's Delphine doing?"

The vampire sighed. "The damage to her rib cage went beyond just breaks. Sahrotaar's constriction crushed many of her bones into numerous smaller fragments. Thankfully, none of her vital organs were punctured, but it'll take a few more days of healing for her to fully recover. You're lucky to have such a talented Restoration mage in the College."

Brelyna snorted. "You should probably tell Colette that; she could _use_ the self-esteem boost."

Valerica smirked. "Perhaps I will." Her gaze snapped to the side, one raven eyebrow shooting upward as she slowly shook her head. "Those two…" She cleared her throat sharply. "Anyhow, I'll be in Whiterun for the next few days. Let me know if there are any substantial changes, good or bad."

"Will do," replied Agmaer.

Brelyna frowned a little. "What are you going to Whiterun for?"

Valerica cast her a glance. "I _do_ have a life outside of you, you know."

" _Oh_." Lyn smirked. "Going to see Kodlak again, are we?"

The vampire's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Brelyna cleared her throat and shuffled in place, looking everywhere but at her. "Shutting up now."

"That would be wise." Her features softened a moment later. "Look after those two, will you?" She motioned out the nearby window at the Arch-Mage's tower. "I get the feeling they're going to need you now more than ever."

Agmaer frowned. "I would think Serana needs her mother too."

"You would think so, but…" Valerica smiled sadly, "with such a complete union, it is only right that she rely on her husband more than me. Though, I suppose she's already been doing that for quite a bit."

"You know no one could ever replace you."

She chuckled. "You're sweet for saying that, but it isn't about being replaced. It's just the natural order of things. He is her life now, her world." Her head bowed slightly. "As it should be." She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. "I'd best be off."

"All right then," said Brelyna, shaking her hand. "Thanks again."

She tipped her head. "Of course."

When the vampire was gone, the young couple turned to each other, Brelyna smiling and standing on her tiptoes to look more closely at his left eye. She ran her thumb over the scar around it, staring into the violet orb flickering over her features. Her head shook slowly as she cupped a hand over it.

Agmaer chuckled. "You do know that does nothing to that eye, right? It doesn't depend on light."

"I know. Just wanted to see something."

"What's that?"

"…huh. So it _does_ glow in the dark. That's nifty."

"Oh, sure, just tell me to keep my left eye open when we're stuck in a cave. Though it's not like you'd be able to see very far."

She giggled. "That's not the point, silly." She let her hand fall to his cheek and kissed him solidly. "You just got a million times cooler."

Agmaer stared at her for a second before breaking out into laughter. "So all it took to make me cool was losing an eye? Okay, gotcha."

"I said cool _er_. There's a difference."

"Oooh…gotcha."

They grinned at each other, Brelyna shaking her head as she looped her arms around his neck.

"You are such a goofball," she giggled.

He grinned. "Would you want me any other way?"

"Hmm…nope." She pecked his lips.

Agmaer chewed his lower lip. "Oh come on." He leaned in closer and whispered against her lips. "You can do better than that."

She grinned salaciously.

…

"You're moping, lass."

Lydia pouted and shot Brynjolf a glare from her new writing desk. "It just seems a little pointless to be starting with _all this_ ," she motioned to the papers scattered across the desk, "when Miraak is still out there."

Brynjolf frowned and leaned forward over the seat back of his chair. "On the contrary. If you let the existence of scum like him get in the way of living your life, you're letting him win."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I know…also, this is boring."

He chuckled. "Welcome to the everyday work of an honest merchant."

"I'd rather be stabbing things."

"I know, lass. You're very good at it, too."

"Damn right."

"But learning how to deal with this is important for a number of reasons."

Lydia arched a brow and set her quill down so she could face him, arms crossed. "Oh yeah?"

He nodded slowly. "Not only does knowing where your material supply comes from help you stay on top of ingredient purity and any shady cuts your suppliers might try to pull; it also helps you develop patience—and a longer temper."

Lydia threw him a deadpan glare.

Brynjolf chuckled. "Which I have to admit, love, is something you could really use."

Her eyes rolled.

"I'm just saying: the ability to rein in your frustration is an important talent, especially when you go into 'berserker mode.'"

She sighed. "I know, but I feel like I've already got a handle on that."

He cleared his throat. " _And_ it should help you stay out of that mindset."

Lydia blinked a few times before sighing. "Yeah, you're right." She reluctantly returned her attention to the stack of papers in front of her, freezing with her quill over one and accidentally dripping ink onto the paper.

Brynjolf noticed. "Lydia? You all right, lass?"

She slowly turned back to him, her eyebrows furrowed and heart in her throat as she carefully laid the quill back in its inkwell. "You called me 'love.'"

They stared at each other for a while, Brynjolf shifting a bit in his seat.

"Aye, I did."

"…so…we're just gonna brush past that?"

He shrugged. "If you'd like."

Her green eyes narrowed. "And if I didn't?"

His head tilted, a teasing smirk twitching at his lips. "Then you should probably start talking."

"Oh no, we're not doing this. You said it, not me."

"So that's how it is?"

"Yep. I want an explanation."

Brynjolf hummed in mock curiosity, tapping his laced fingers against his lips. "First, I want your reaction."

"Thought I already gave it."

"No. I want to know what's running through your head."

At that, Lydia's eyes widened and her face began heating up. "Well, I…" she pouted and crossed her arms, "that hardly seems fair."

Brynjolf shrugged. "All is fair in love and war."

She stared at him, narrow-eyed.

He grinned smugly.

"Bryn…"

"Yes, love?"

"Ugh, would you please just—" She stood up and shoved his torso away from the seat back, making space for her to sit on his lap. "Explain. Now."

Brynjolf's arms linked around her midsection, a teasing smirk on his face. "Oh no. That's not working this time."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? Okay…" Lydia cleared her throat and started unlacing her vest's fasteners.

"Um…lass…what are you—"

"What does it look like?"

Bryn cleared his throat and turned away, resolutely refusing to look at her. "That's not going to work," he repeated resolutely.

She just kept going.

It was at this point that he finally started blushing. "Lydia, you do know we're not alone in this building, right? Someone could walk through that door at any point."

"Yep. Start talking and you won't have to worry about it."

At that, Brynjolf's lips pursed tightly, and Lydia knew she'd won.

His features sagged in defeat as he held her closer, burying his face in her neck. "You…I…yeah."

"…I'm sorry, was that…supposed to be a sentence?" She grasped at the next set of buttons. "Because I could just keep going."

He cleared his throat sharply. "Yes, Lydia…I love you."

Her entire body jolted at the leap in her heart, her lips curling with a warm smile as her fingers shifted from her shirt to his hair. "See? Was that so hard?"

Brynjolf frowned a little. "Actually…yes."

Lydia pouted and drew closer. "Aww…need me to kiss it better?"

He shot her a look.

She smiled again, gently nuzzling his cheek. "Sorry, Bryn, but open communication is a _lot_ better with me than anything else." She chuckled. "I don't exactly do subtlety well."

He snorted. "Yeah, got that from the two years of ignorance."

Lydia frowned.

"That…" Brynjolf sighed hard, "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I know."

They held each other for a while in silence.

"Bryn." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I…I don't know if I can say it back just yet."

"I didn't ask you to."

"A-And I'm not saying that because—I just don't know...what that…feels like, exactly. I mean, I've loved people, but…family, you know?"

He nodded against her hair. "Aye, I understand completely." He gently kissed her neck. "No rush, lass. I've waited two years for this much." He smiled against her lips. "I can wait a little longer."

Lydia felt an incredible warmth permeate her entire body, starting in her chest and spreading outward from there as she leaned down and closed her eyes to enjoy every inch of his lips.

…

The following morning, Ketar was bent over the same tome with a set of notes on the Soul Cairn given to him by Valerica.

 _"For the exchange of anything with the Ideal Masters, there must always be a gradient of value that favors their side. Equivalence is not enough; they will determine a way to exact a higher price of you if such an offer is made. To gain, you must give something worth more than what they give up."_

Ketar sighed and leaned back in his seat, carding a hand through his hair. _What the hell could be worth more than the soul of a dragon?_ He frowned deeply. _And how would I contain it?_

Another sigh left his throat as he sat in his thoughts for a while, eventually reaching out to close the books and transport them to the rift.

"You ready?" called Serana from the bedroom.

"Yeah," he replied on his way to her. "I'm good."

Just before he left the main atrium of the study, something in the corner of his vision caught his eye, prompting him to stop short and stare at one of his display cases for a while. And suddenly, he had his answer. A minute or so later, he entered the bedroom, where Serana was fixing the last straps of her typical royal armor in place. She smiled up at him with a nod.

"Those look good on you."

Ketar blinked and looked down at himself, noting the gray-and-white robes currently adorning his body. He shrugged. "Eh, they're all right. Mage robes were never really my style, to be honest. I feel naked without some kind of armor." At the smartass comment he saw about to leave her lips, he pointed at her haltingly. "Don't even think about it. You've had me burning up more than enough for one twenty-four-hour period."

She looped her arms around his midsection, grinning. "On the contrary. You promised me a honeymoon, darling."

He shot her a look. " _After_ this is all over." A frown. "But it's not. Not yet."

Serana sighed hard, still holding him. "I know." They were silent a while. "What are we going to do now?"

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "I've been laying down plans. I have a few ideas."

She shot him a scolding look. "Which you're _sharing_ with me this time."

He sighed. "Yes. I've learned my lesson."

"Good."

"It involves dragons."

"…"

"And everyone I've ever befriended."

"…"

"Still want to know more?"

"Hell yes."

Ketar chuckled as he donned his Guildmaster armor and made for the exit. "Then strap in and listen up. This is gonna get complicated."

…

It took all the way back to Whiterun on Odahviing's back to explain things to Serana, and by the time they touched down in Dragonsreach (Balgruuf had reluctantly permitted it as a designated landing zone, since landing in the city proper would scare the hell out of the population), she was utterly speechless. That is, until—

"That's _crazy_."

"Oh yeah," he replied, "without a doubt. But it could work."

Serana frowned. "It _better_ work. You're gambling the fate of the world on the hope that they'll all be willing to work together."

"I'd rather gamble with those terms than risk taking on Miraak alone."

"And why not go after him now?"

Ketar grimaced. "Because he can still enslave entire populations even without his army of Daedra and dragons. We'll be outnumbered either way, but with a little extra time and preparation, we'll have a chance to hold his invasion back long enough for me to end him."

"…I _really_ hope you know what you're doing."

He snorted. "If I don't, I doubt any of us will live long enough to regret it."

"That's not comforting."

A sigh. "I know." He waved toward the road leading into the lower town as they made their way into the courtyard at the base of Dragonsreach. "Why don't you meet up with Brynjolf and Lydia? I need to do some work with Eorlund. It could take a while."

Serana threw him a questioning glance. "What are you two planning?"

He smirked. "You'll see." At her continued stare, he rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. Since when have any of our projects ever turned out badly?"

A shrug. "Eh, that's fair." She pushed up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you later."

He gave her a nod and a smile, then let the expression drop from his face as he peeled off toward the Skyforge. Looking around, he made sure no one was watching before he pushed in a section of the massive forge's rocky base, revealing a stone fake wall that slid down and away. He stepped through the doorway and hit a switch on the inside, leaving only the smoldering heart of the Skyforge to light his way to the center of the Underforge. Waiting for him there was Eorlund Gray-Mane, who was staring at him with mild unease in his eyes.

"My boy," he said, "you have no idea how nervous I've been, having to sit on this. I practically paced a hole into the floor of my house!"

"I know," Ketar interrupted in a calming tone. "I just…had some things I had to take care of first." He pulled a thick stack of papers from a bag at his hip. "And some designs to draw up."

Eorlund frowned and waved him over to a nearby workbench, where Ketar laid out a set of _very_ detailed plans end to end. The old smith's eyebrows steadily worked their way upward, his eyes widening by the same degree.

"Ketar, this...is…"

"It's amateur work, I know, but I know you can do something beautiful with it."

Eorlund blinked up at him. "Do you jest? This is a _masterwork_. I only hope my old hands have skill enough to make it reality."

Ketar took and released a long, deep breath. "Yeah…same here."

As the two artisans pored over the details of the plans laid out before them, Ketar's mind drifted to a conversation he had before leaving for Winterhold, the very day after defeating Alduin—after he discovered Akatosh's "gift" in the Underforge.

…

 _Gelebor's eyebrows made a valiant effort to join his hairline when he saw Ketar's black-clad form riding into the open chapel on the back of a red dragon. The Dragonborn climbed off and gently patted the neck of said dragon before ushering him to fly off toward a nearby mountain. Ketar approached Gelebor with a strange, somber look on his face._

 _The Elf frowned a little. "Did the wedding not go as planned?"_

 _His head shook slowly. "No, it went off perfectly. I just…" he sighed hard and opened the rift, "I'm here to return this."_

 _Gelebor blinked and fought the urge to gape when Ketar handed him the Armor of Auriel, minus the cloak he'd attached to it. "But—why?"_

 _Ketar frowned. "It's complicated." He turned away and started pacing. "From the moment I first put it on, I felt this…unease, deep in my soul. I couldn't understand why. After all, it was just a suit of armor, right? But…the longer I wore it, the more I realized…" his gaze locked with Gelebor's, "I was never meant to have it."_

 _The Elf stared, lips pursed. "Explain."_

 _He sighed and sat down on a large piece of rubble, fingers laced together. "The Armor of Auriel is no legend. It was worn by my father once."_

 _A blink. "And you know this for certain? How?"_

 _"Because when I used my Dragon Aspect, it melded with the plates and chains of that thing like nothing I'd ever seen before. The armor amplified my draconic powers in that state, to a level I could never have predicted. I still don't understand precisely what happened. What I do know is that that armor—" he pointed at it, "—was meant for a paladin, or an Arch-Curate who is pure of heart." His head shook slowly. "And that's not me."_

 _Gelebor stared at him, huffing in disbelief. "Based on_ what _? Ketar, you are the Last Dragonborn, the arm of Auriel in the mortal world and the living embodiment of his will. Who could possibly be more worthy to wear such an armor?"_

 _Ketar smiled up at him. "A real paladin, devoted to the pursuit of peace."_

 _Another long stare. "You can't be serious."_

 _He stood up and strode toward Gelebor. "Dead serious. You've devoted your entire life to the service of my father, never once asking for anything in return except the ability to continue doing your duty. I can't think of anyone else who could be more deserving."_

 _Gelebor's jaw tightened. "And why not you?"_

 _His eyes flickered with a dark, haunted look, a sardonic smile on his face as he resumed pacing. "I thought…I was beyond my baser instincts. That I had grown enough as a person and Dragonborn to rise above the petty urges of my mortal half." His head shook slowly. "But I was wrong." He picked at a fractured pillar. "After I struck down Alduin, I came back to Nirn, warned by Akatosh that Serana was in danger. When I found her, when I saw the damage that had been done…I felt two distinct and powerful emotions._

 _"The first was an overwhelming guilt and shame at not being there to protect her. The second…" his hands spasmed into fists, "the second was a pure, unadulterated rage, the likes of which I have_ never _felt. Even against Vingalmo, my anger only burned so hot. But this…" he whirled toward Gelebor with a wild, savage look in his eyes, "Gelebor, never in my entire life have I wanted so desperately to_ murder _someone as I do Miraak. I don't want him dead. I want to_ watch him die _." He strode toward the visibly unnerved Elf slowly. "I want to see the light go out behind his eyes; see the fear that I saw in Sera's just moments before she drank my blood, when she was_ this close _to death._

 _"I want to make him scream in agony, watch him bleed out the way she did." He brought his hands in front of his face in a clawing motion. "I want to rip him apart barehanded." His shoulders were shaking a bit as he motioned to the Armor of Auriel. "And with that, I'd have the strength to. You'll notice I said want, not wanted. And the part of me that wants that is_ not _small." He smiled sardonically. "Now tell me: does the armor of one who lives to serve life belong in the hands of a man hell-bent on murder?"_

 _Gelebor stared at him agape for a while, slowly exhaling a long breath. "I…I cannot presume to know what you are feeling. The closest I have ever come to such thoughts was my wish to see Vyrthur dead, but that was out of duty, not anger." His lips pursed tightly. "I do believe that every man and woman has two sides: the noble, bright side that represents the conscience and guides one to perform admirable acts of altruism; and the malevolent, darker side that rules one's baser instincts and desires._

 _"The mantras of Auri-El emphasize balance in all things, so acknowledging both sides is a must if you are to follow him. That this side of you exists is not an issue as much as its potential to rule over you."_

 _Ketar nodded slowly. "I know. That's why I can't have that armor. I'm not ready for it."_

 _Gelebor frowned. "Then what will you wear to face Miraak? Not_ that _, I hope." He gestured to Ketar's Guildmaster armor._

 _He chuckled and shook his head. "No, not this. I have something else in mind. This morning, I found something in the Underforge that Akatosh left me, as a reward for finally bringing Alduin down: the black scales and bones of the World-Eater himself."_

 _Gelebor's eyes went double-wide. "You…you intend to fashion a suit of armor from his body."_

 _He nodded._

 _"So…" the Elf's jaw clenched, "because you believe yourself unworthy, you would forsake the visage of Auri-El for that of Alduin?"_

 _Ketar tipped his head. "I would."_

 _"…why?"_

 _He smiled wistfully. "Because…I believe now, more than ever, that I_ am _Alduin. Or, at least…what Alduin was_ meant _to be."_

 _Gelebor stared at him for a while, eventually sighing and bowing his head in acquiescence. "Very well, Dragonborn. I will honor your wish."_

 _"Will you?"_

 _"Yes. Although I am not certain I can in good conscience wear the armor myself."_

 _"Well, you might want to reconsider that soon."_

 _Gelebor frowned at his tone. "Why is that?"_

 _Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "Because I'm going to need your help. The help of anyone and everyone who will answer my call. Miraak must be stopped."_

 _"But I cannot leave the—"_

 _"The Chantry has survived for the last six millennia, Gelebor. It'll be fine without you for one day. Besides, I think it's high time that this pretender learns what it means to be a servant of Akatosh. He believes our loyalty to him makes us weak, limited." He smirked. "I intend to prove him wrong." He turned back toward the balcony of the chapel. "And I hope you'll consider helping._ Od-Ah-Viing _!" Ketar turned his head to send a parting smile at Gelebor. "Goodbye my friend; listen for my call!"_

 _The paladin bowed in respect as the Dragonborn took to the skies, leaving him with a new suit of armor and a great deal of reflecting to do._

…

 _"Listen for my call."_

Those very words had been sent to the four corners of Skyrim on ravens after his visit to the Forgotten Vale. He hadn't been joking in the slightest when he told Serana that he intended to enlist every living soul he'd ever befriended in this final conflict. After Frea's warning, he'd sent Karliah to Solstheim with a message to inform him of any further developments via the thief's access to the Nightingale communication system. Despite Miraak's existing presence in Tamriel, Ketar knew that the souls of a few mortals wouldn't be nearly enough power to transport his entire army from Apocrypha.

As such, with the re-corruption of the All-Maker Stones, Miraak's conquest of Solstheim had resumed, and was being protected by Sahrotaar and the few unfortunate dragons who strayed close enough to be enslaved. In addition, Miraak had raided Skaal Village upon his return and stolen the Black Books in their care. Fortunately, casualties had been minimal, but Storn was critically injured in the conflict, leaving Frea to lead the survivors alone. Since then, she'd used her knowledge of the Skaal shamanic arts and the assistance of the mages of Raven Rock to erect a barrier around the Dunmer city and protect them from the corruption of Miraak's domination.

At present, Raven Rock was the last stronghold of free minds on Solstheim, but their warriors were few, as were their boats. If Miraak's army attacked in force, they would be utterly wiped out without even a hope of evacuation. Ketar would die before he let that happen, but with any luck, such measures wouldn't even have to be flirted with. And speaking of flirting…

Ever since he'd saved her from Miraak, Serana had been absolutely _insatiable_. Bothering him at work, distracting him incessantly…though he honestly enjoyed being distracted quite a bit. It wasn't quite a honeymoon—researching necromancy and the Soul Cairn with every spare moment between planning for war and training his Voice wasn't exactly relaxing—but every time in the aftermath, she had this look on her face, like she was afraid he'd disappear if she looked away. Surprising, given that she was the one who had come to the brink of death, not him.

Even if he enjoyed the end product, it was still worrisome.

Seeing as how she knew almost as much about necromancy as her mother, and she owed Durnehviir her life, Serana had helped him tackle the Soul Cairn situation as best she could, whether through what she'd learned or relaying telepathic messages to and from her mother as a means of comparing notes. Unlike him, though, she was actually following medical advice and taking it easy—mostly because he gave her…incentive for a speedy recovery. But still, Serana was worried about something, and he only saw that look in her eyes when she looked at him. He'd have to ask her about it later. Right now…

"I take it we start the same as last time?"

Eorlund turned his head to face Ketar. "Aye. Dragonfire, once more."

Ketar smiled and drew a deep breath. " _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

"…so, Lydia tells me you've been running yourself ragged lately."

He blinked. "She worries too much."

"Uh huh. So I'm just imagining the fresh bloodstains on that arm wrapping."

Ketar stared at him.

Eorlund's lips pursed as he held his hands up. "All I'm saying is that you would do well to acknowledge your limits."

He smirked. "Can't afford to, not now. That's why those plans seemed rushed. It's a race against time, and I have no intention of losing. I do that…and the whole world might well follow."

The old smith sighed hard. "Do you know what your friends like least about you? And by your friends, I mean all of them."

The Dragonborn threw him a deadpan look. "What?"

"I'd be willing to bet hard coin that every one of them hates your god complex."

"My _what_?"

"Aye, scoff all you want, lad, but you know it's true. Everything is on you; everything is always your fault. Alduin, the vampires, this mess in Solstheim, a bad year for the crops—you take on the weight of every calamity in Skyrim. A fact I guarantee annoys your friends and family to no end. Annoys…and worries."

Ketar looked away, into the blazing fire of the Skyforge. "I know I'm not alone in this fight, but when push comes to shove and it's zero hour…it's on me. I'd never ask any of them to take on that responsibility."

"Of course not. You're the Dragonborn. And maybe all those macho speeches of manliness and rhetoric work on the masses, but not on me."

"Hey, that's not fair."

"No? And is it fair to make your loved ones watch helplessly as you shoulder the burdens of the world alone, in an attempt to spare _them_ pain? You think that makes them feel any better? No…because then _your_ pain is on _them_."

He blinked. "But—that's not true. It's my cho—"

"Yes, exactly. Your choice. Something every one of them wishes to respect. But doing so often means leaving you to face the fire alone, which in turn—"

"Makes them worry and agonize over me." He frowned at the floor.

Eorlund strode up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Son…I know how close you came to losing Serana. If it were my wife, I might withdraw too."

"I haven't withdrawn."

"Not physically, perhaps, but emotionally you have. It's plain to see by the way they worry over you."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "What do you want me to do? Sera came within an inch of death. Serana, my beautiful wife, the _immortal_ , almost died…and it's my fault."

Eorlund stared at him for a few seconds, expression tight and tense.

And then Ketar's eyes went wide and he put a hand to his right cheek after he was slapped hard enough to work his head around. "W-What are you—"

"Tell me something, Dragonborn. Did you plunge that sword into her chest? Did you abduct and threaten her? Try to carve out her heart?"

"N-No…"

"No. That was Miraak, a monster in human form who abused the same gift you bear to satisfy his own vile cravings. You gave her what she needed to survive, sent everything you had to protect her, and sacrificed your blood to return life to her body. No one can predict life. You can anticipate it, plan for it, but in the end, it is but for chance and the grace of the gods that we live on. And you, my friend…are no god."

Ketar snorted derisively as he frowned at the ground. "Well, I did just _kill_ one, so…"

"Alduin was no god either. He fancied himself as such, and he did have immense power, but in the end, he was only the spawn of one. A firstborn son jealous of his sire. It happens often enough in our world."

He looked up at the old man, who placed his hands on his shoulders.

"Do what you can, treasure those in your life, and then leave the rest to the gods. No matter how strong you get, life or death simply isn't your decision to make. And certainly nothing you should feel guilty over, especially when what you're agonizing about is what _might_ have been…and not what is."

Ketar bit his lower lip and nodded slowly. "I understand." He smiled a little. "Thank you."

"Now," Eorlund arched an eyebrow, "would you prefer to have that conversation before or after this?"

The Dragonborn's lips curled in a predatory smile. "After. I get the feeling I won't be going anywhere for a while after a talk like that, and I think you can imagine why."

Eorlund chuckled. "As you wish, my boy. Let's get to it then."

"Yes." Ketar grinned. "Let's."

…

The air and heat of the Skyforge once again drew the attention of the Companions on that day, although this time, it meant significantly more for the fact that they knew who was there. They may not have known exactly what he was doing, but after Kodlak had received his call to arms, it became readily apparent that he was in some way preparing for a war of mythical proportions. The sounds of hammering and the roar of the flames seemed louder, more primal than usual, as if the Skyforge was being operated by a beast instead of a man.

Ketar's spectacular motivation seemed to have taken the old man by storm. Eorlund moved like he was twenty years younger, as if the Dragonborn had lent him some of his own endless stamina and vigor. If any had dared to visit while they worked, even the bravest Companion might have flinched at the look in Ketar's eyes. He looked _possessed_ , by some inhuman force of determination that drove his every twitch and motion. The flames of the Skyforge licked at his sparsely-clad body as he bustled about the furnace; not in a threatening way, but as if they were a devoted servant waiting for his summons.

And he did summon them.

First, with a thin shard of black bone twelve inches in length and a little under two inches wide. The grindstone screeched and crackled with the touch of the shard, heated to an extreme by the dragonfire spewing from the Skyforge's furnace and held in place by tongs. Slowly but surely, with a great deal of care, a thin, impossibly sharp blade formed and was set into a mold occupying its blunt end. Molten ebony was poured into the mold and quenched once fully conformed, forming an etched hilt with a small, ringed pommel and U-shaped crossguard.

In the ring of the pommel, an enchanted bloodstone styled in a double-ended cabochon cut was affixed, giving the hilt a polished igneous look. Magic sparked from Ketar's fingers, tendrils of red and sapphire energy searing glowing runes into the thin black blade on one side, and another, different set on the other side a moment later. It was heated and quenched, over and over again, until he felt the time was right, the final quenching performed with frost breath and creating a permanent seal over the thin blade's edge similar to that of Alduin's Bane. No rogue Dragonborn's Voice would be shattering _this_ dagger.

The reason for crafting such a weapon so soon was twofold: first, to have a powerful gift for Serana to replace her Elven stiletto; and second, to have a tool capable of cutting through dragon scales with ease. With it, he then set about carving discrete plates from Alduin's scales, referring to his schematics, while Eorlund prepared the framework for the undersuit. Said undersuit was to be made of a relatively common yet extremely expensive material, and priced thusly because it was nearly impossible to harvest in viable condition. However, using his connections to the Dawnguard and Gunmar, who was notoriously skilled at taming wild beasts, Ketar was able to get a hold of a steady source of frostbite spider silk.

Ironic that he would choose to wear something made by one of the hated creatures, but considering how strong and light their silk was, he'd practically be wearing another suit of armor underneath the main one; and against Miraak, that was not an advantage he was willing to forgo. Besides, he would be wearing the pelt of one of his greatest enemies soon enough; a spider barely rated a sidebar. When Ketar finally finished with the plates, he began work on another piece of the suit: a fibrous flap of sorts that was to go over his back like a shroud. The purpose behind this was a conundrum he had yet to solve: stowing his enchanted cloak when it was not in use.

His solution? Retract it like wings.

Specifically, he used the fibrous membrane of Alduin's wings to form a semi-circular sheath for the cloak, along with a network of tendons and connective tissue meant to be anchored to the inside of its body as a means of retracting it. The end result was a low-profile shroud of dragon scales over his upper back and lower neck that would lift and split when he needed the cloak, and a set of tendons that would constrict and fold the cloak at the touch of his magic when he needed it out of the way. The two could be separated if he wished, and the tendon system work independently, but at present, he didn't intend to wear the cloak outside of this armor.

Eorlund finished with the undersuit around the same time as Ketar did with the shroud, freeing them both to work on the armor itself. The individual plates were knitted together end over end with ebony twine, creating a smooth, overlapping pattern of scales that no blade would easily pierce. This configuration was applied to the pauldrons, bracers, chestplate, and greaves of the armor, while the fabric they were appended to was comprised of the leathery skin just beneath the dragon's scales. That same skin was used to craft a hood that was attached to the rest of the suit.

As the fourth day drew to a close, there was but one final piece that had yet to be made. It was with this that Ketar insisted he be left alone. Eorlund reluctantly agreed, heading home while Ketar stayed at the Skyforge. He had always intended for this to be the last portion, primarily because he needed more time to nail down its design. The moment the time came, he knew exactly what it would look like, and set about cutting and grinding down plates of dragonbone, two of each shape and type, save one. His knowledge of Dwarven collapsible mechanics, gained from extensive study of Zephyr, was put to the test during the final assembly, but when it was over, he was more than thrilled with the results.

Hours later, Eorlund returned to the Skyforge to find Ketar laboring over an enchanter's table and putting the finishing touches on the armor. On the spider silk undersuit was a spell intended to improve his draw of magicka from the world around him, so that he wouldn't have to push his limits so quickly, and another to retain a portion of that magicka in the suit itself for emergency use. His gauntlets were enchanted to give him steady hands for blade or bow, and to help to stand firm against physical attack. His greaves bore a spell that made his energy virtually boundless, and if that should be depleted, another to help him recover from exertion faster.

On the inside of the chestplate was a series of runes meant to improve his already-substantial healing factor, and on the outside a skintight ward that would increase his resistance against all types of magic. The final piece was a bit tricky to enchant, seeing as how the separation of plates made etching a coherent set of runes difficult. However, once it was fully assembled and expanded to its full size, he simply poured his energy into the task and the magic took care of the rest.

This piece was one that was attached to the inside of the hood, a full face-mask made of smoothed black dragonbone. In a way, it was reminiscent of the Dragon Priest masks he had spent over two years collecting, but with a look closer to that of the full helmets worn by the Dawnguard. That is, a perfectly symmetrical façade with two eyeslits and a network of small holes for the mouth and nose. In the bottom center of the mask was a tab, the single odd piece in its construction that, when lifted, sent the entire mask folding and collapsing on itself, so it could be tucked into and retracted with the hood at will.

On the inside of the plates comprising the mouthpiece were a series of etchings that would allow Ketar to breathe underwater, and under the eyeslits was an enchantment that would improve his sight at long ranges, whether for reconnaissance or taking a distant shot. In the forehead of the mask was an empty slot, as was the case in every piece of the armor, a slot that was filled with a few drops of Ketar's blood once everything was finished. The armor's response was astonishing, seeming to almost drink in and assimilate his lifeblood, as if it were some kind of symbiotic creature—or an extension of his body.

Still, although he had forged it in dragonfire and spelled it with everything that had been planned, there was something missing. He understood when he felt the armor call out to him, and smiled as the words came easily to his lips, his Voice washing over the suit in greeting.

" _Fah fin moro do_ Akatosh _, ahrk fin qahnaar do vokul, zu fonaar hi voth fin ahmik do laas, nol nu wah fin oblaan do sulle_."

Immediately after he finished Speaking, the armor pulsed and surged with power only he could feel, a dull hum reverberating through his fingertips when he placed the palm of his hand against the chestplate. A smile tugged at his lips as his eyes slipped shut, his other hand reaching forth to affix a cabochon-cut sapphire to the empty slot in the center of its collar, the space immediately around it embossed with a small ebony form reminiscent of his amulet. Specifically, the form of a proud dragon, neck curled, body held erect, with its wings spread in a circular pattern around the lower half of its body.

He had designed it to be fitted with the stone once everything was finished, as an anchoring mechanism for the extensive enchantments etched into the very fabric of the armor. The location of the gem was both strategic and symbolic—in the very center of the dragon sigil, in the place of its heart.

When all was said and done, Ketar sagged into a chair, completely spent, but grinning all the same. Eorlund stared at the midnight-black armor, currently sitting on a tailor's mannequin, with unabashed awe, slowly turning to face Ketar with the same dumbstruck look on his face.

"This is…" Eorlund slowly shook his head, "this is beyond masterful. It's _art_. Gods be praised."

Ketar smiled wider and stood up with a grunt. "Indeed." He placed a hand on the old smith's shoulder. "Thank you, my friend."

He smiled back and gripped Ketar's shoulder in kind. "Have you decided on a name?"

Ketar glanced at the sword currently sitting against a nearby stone wall, a smile twitching his lips as he stood lost in thought for a moment. "I have. A friend gave me the idea, actually…and I quite approve." He strode toward the mannequin, coming face-to-mask with the armor that was imbued with his very life essence. "My eldest brother will go down in history as a murderous tyrant, despite the beautiful thing he was meant to be. I intend to show the world what that might've looked like." He placed his hands on the armor's shoulders. "Thus, it shall be called ' _Luft'Alduin_ '—Alduin's Visage."

…

Serana had to admit, watching Lydia at work was _supremely_ amusing, especially when she had to argue with a belligerent supplier who attempted to condescend to the "newcomer." At that, Lydia returned his belligerence in full, resulting in a screaming match that had Serana staring at them and Brynjolf grinning from ear to ear. Sighing, the vampire shook her head and looked off to the side, a frown tugging at her lips as she stared into empty space. A little over a week had passed since her last near-death experience, four of those days spent without her husband. Contrary to what he believed, Sera could be quite a while without tumbling with him in the sack, but every time she saw him when he thought he was alone, she couldn't help but frown.

He was so deathly focused on his work nowadays, like he had something to prove. Perhaps he thought she'd been harmed because he was drunk on power or, hell, just _too happy_. Yet another sigh passed her lips as she resigned herself for the umpteenth time since then. If he decided that he was responsible for something, then that was it. No ifs, ands, or buts. It annoyed the hell out of her. So, every time she saw him going down that path and got annoyed with it, she had sex with him. It wasn't intended to start their honeymoon early (though that hardly diminished her enjoyment), but to break him out of a self-destructive pattern of thinking.

Four days without that…well, she wasn't going to complain on the grounds of being alone. Hanging around the family's newest "power couple" was a great deal of fun, and she'd spent a bit of time with her mother as well. All the same, Serana hoped that someone, if not her, could get through to him, because if he went into this last battle without getting his head screwed on straight…

She frowned grimly. _It won't matter that he knows the last Word._

…

 _It was the morning after the attack, when Serana was recuperating at the College of Winterhold, when she finally managed to wrangle Ketar into bed for the first time. But, that time, it wasn't to take him just yet. Despite his periodic infusions of blood, she still hadn't regained enough strength for that…at least at first. Whatever weapon Miraak had, it did a number on vampiric physiology, because from Miraak's own memories, none of his human victims had suffered similar deterioration. Though perhaps it just hadn't been seen because they usually ended up dead._

 _Still, it gave her an excuse to drag him under the covers with her, and after almost losing her future with him, she'd take all the physical comfort she could get. Ketar, for the most part, was happy to oblige. It was on this first occasion that she remembered something that had happened during the kidnapping, a strange phenomenon that she hadn't quite understood until, during one of her feedings, she'd discreetly tapped into some of Ketar's more recent memories. Specifically, the moment he gained knowledge of the final Word of Storm Call in Skuldafn. Why? Because the night of her near-death, she had experienced something very similar._

 _"Bend Will."_

 _Ketar blinked up at her at her sudden speech. "What?"_

 _"Miraak's Shout, Bend Will. The way he dominates others."_

 _"…what about it?"_

 _"You know two of the Words already, yes?"_

 _Ketar frowned. "I do. One from that Word Wall you helped me reach, the other from Apocrypha, from Miraak's memories."_

 _She bit her lower lip. "And…could you gain knowledge of a Word from a person?"_

 _"Well…I got it from the Greybeards, and Durnehviir, so yeah." His head cocked. "Where are you going with this?"_

 _Serana blinked and took a deep breath. "I think I know the final Word of Bend Will."_

 _Ketar's eyebrows shot skyward._

 _"I heard it on the wind, when he overpowered Odahviing and tried to do the same to me."_

 _"And you still remember it?"_

 _"Well yes, but…it's more than that." She reached up and absently toyed with her hair. "When the Shout hit me, I could hear…whispers in my head. Some were unintelligible, some distinct, but when I managed to overpower it…I don't know. It's like…like the meaning was imprinted on my mind."_

 _Ketar blinked and pursed his lips, staring off into space. "I think I know what you mean, but…" he turned back to her, "how could_ you _have experienced that?"_

 _"If I had to guess, the same way I can wield the Bane."_

 _His eyebrows shot upward. "Dragon blood."_

 _She nodded. "Add to that all the training with_ Dovahzul _, and I think I have something of a handle on Words of Power. I'm not saying I understand it all as well as you, but…the word '_ Dov _'_ _is one I'm quite familiar with." She smirked. "After all…" she carded a hand through his hair, "it's my name now."_

 _Ketar stared at her, lips parted. "You mean…that's the final Word of Power?"_

 _Serana nodded slowly, still stroking his hair. "_ Dov _."_

 _He stared at her with wide eyes as Serana felt something pass between them, some form of energy she'd never felt before, but seen plenty of times. Her eyes widened as well when she realized—_

 _"Did I just—"_

 _"Speak?" he asked in awe. "Sure looks that way."_

 _Her jaw dropped. "But…even if I have your blood, it couldn't improve my abilities_ that _much…could it?"_

 _His head shook slowly. "No, but you're forgetting one important detail: you're a Nord. According to the Greybeards, the Nords were the first to receive Kynareth's blessing: the ability to learn and use the_ Thu'um _. For them, endless years of study and practice must ensue to learn even the most basic Shouts, but without exception, every single one has the potential. So…it's like you said. All your study, plus my dragon blood…it must've combined to give you just enough edge to understand Miraak's Shout. That and…it's actually easier to learn a Shout when you're on the receiving end of its effects."_

 _She chewed her lower lip. "Why's that?"_

 _He took a deep breath. "Because you must understand the meaning of a Word of Power on an_ instinctive _level, internalize it, make it a part of you. Then, and only then, can you use it in a Shout. That's why dragons can utilize the Voice so easily and frequently, even more so than me; unlike myself and the rest of humanity, they're native speakers. For the most part, I haven't had to go the normal route because when I absorb a dragon's soul, I take on their memories and experiences and apply them to the Words I learn. However, in some cases, when no dragon I've defeated has had the knowledge I seek, I've spent entire days meditating on these Words. It's still much faster than even masters like the Greybeards, but takes time all the same."_

 _"So…now that you know…"_

 _Ketar smirked. "Yeah. I'm gonna have to train myself to use it."_

 _"I wouldn't think you'd_ need _to, given that it's in your name."_

 _He shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Matter of fact, until recently, I don't think I fully understood the word_ dov _, and all it represents." He frowned in concentration. "It's more than just 'dragon.' It's a word representative of all dragonkind, our entire race—myself included. Every_ dovah _, dragon or man, bears the title of_ dov _in some aspect. It's an integral part of our identity, and encompasses both a natural grasp of the Voice and an immortal soul gifted to us by our collective father. In that same line of thinking, the title '_ dov _' carries with it an inherent responsibility."_

 _Serana blinked. "To serve and protect life."_

 _Ketar smiled. "Seems to me you understand it even better than I do. Well you should. You wouldn't have been able to Speak it otherwise."_

 _She bit her lower lip. "If that's the case, then I think I know a way to bypass all that meditation."_

 _"Huh?"_

 _A devious smile forced its way to her lips as she bared her fangs in a grin._

 _Ketar's eyes widened as he caught on. "_ Oh _…oh no."_

 _"Ohhh yes."_

 _"But Sera, y-your wounds—"_

 _"Are healed. If anything, it's my_ stamina _that's taken a hit," she tapped his lower lip with her forefinger, "but don't think for one second I can't still give as good as I get."_

 _"Uhh…ugh…there's no talking you out of this, is there?"_

 _Serana's only reply was to pin Ketar to the bed and sink her fangs into his neck, for the second time establishing a full mental connection and making them one in every way imaginable._

…

Despite the immensely euphoric feeling of that ultimate connection, Serana couldn't help but feel bittersweet about it. Every time they melded, they were forced to relive each other's memories—the good with the bad. And the bad was, well…in some cases, it was really, _really_ bad. It helped that the good was absolutely _amazing_ , but still…not an experience she wanted to have on a frequent basis.

Her right index fingered the ebony ring on her left hand, the cool touch of its metal reminding her of its dual function, which Ketar had shown her after she recovered her strength. It was this particular spell that she checked absently, as she had several times over the past couple days. Her eyes widened when the ring's reply indicated a much closer proximity than it had the last time. She was on her feet in the next second, whirling toward the opening door to see a tired-looking Ketar stepping through.

He smiled and strode over to her, getting the attention of the still-arguing Lydia. "Can I talk to you?" he asked, nodding at the door.

Serana glanced back at Bryn and Lydia, shrugging and nodding as she followed him out.

"So…I know I haven't exactly been myself for the last week or so."

Her arms crossed. "You're just noticing this now?"

He snorted. "Very funny. Eorlund knocked some sense into me before we got started. Well, slapped it actually."

Serana giggled. "Good for him."

Ketar threw her a peeved look. "Yeah, well…" he sighed hard, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such an ass, for keeping you in the dark, making you worry…I'm just sorry."

She nodded slowly, shrugging after a while. "Okay."

"…okay?"

"Okay."

"That's it? No…scolding, screaming?"

Serana chortled. "Pretty sure my mother already took care of that."

Ketar blanched. "Oh, don't remind me." He patted a pouch on his belt and scrambled to open it. "On that note, there's something I'd like to give you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He smiled and held out a foot-long dagger made of pure-black dragonbone and ebony, with a polished bloodstone in the pommel and a sheath made of dragon scales and twined ebony. Her eyes widened to double what they normally were as she gingerly accepted the weapon, her right hand going to the hilt and slowly drawing it from the sheath. A long, hissing breath whistled through her teeth as she inspected it from every angle, frowning at the runes in the blade.

"One side bears an enchantment like Alduin's Bane," Ketar explained, "allowing it to cut through dragon hide with ease."

She glanced up at him, flipping the dagger. "And the other?"

"A spell much like the Blade of Woe. I based it on the magical talons of gargoyles. It allows you to absorb the vitality of anything that dagger cuts, just in case you find yourself wounded like that again without a ready source of dragon blood."

Serana slowly shook her head, her eyes drifting down to the gemstone in the hilt. "And what about this?"

"Ah, the bloodstone. Well, to be honest, I based this dagger largely on the Bane, so this one is a means of limiting use of this weapon to you."

She frowned. "Then how could _you_ have held it all this time?"

"Well, I used your blood as the anchoring agent when I enchanted that stone, and since you were running on dragon blood at the time…"

"Ah, I see. So…it's limited to you or me?"

"Well, more like a vampire or a dragon. So theoretically, your mother could use it."

Serana stared at the dagger and whistled through her teeth. "Kay…" she grinned and sheathed it, "you've outdone yourself. Again."

Ketar chuckled and embraced her tightly. "I try my best." They drew apart a moment later, the Dragonborn frowning. "Now that it's done, though, I need to go."

"Go where?"

"The Throat of the World. It's time to start setting the plan in motion."

She straightened up. "Want me to come with?"

He grimaced. "I appreciate that, but this is something I really have to do alone."

"That's not the way Odahviing explained it to me."

A sigh. "It's your call, love, but there wouldn't be much point in coming along."

"It's called moral support," she laughed.

Ketar smiled ruefully. "Eh, fair enough." He caressed her cheek, gazing lovingly into her eyes. "I love you."

She held his hand and pressed her face further into it. "And I love you."

"Oi," called Brynjolf, "what are you two plotting over there?"

Ketar smirked. "Oh nothing. Just my ascension to _Thuri do Dovahhe_."

"Your _what_?" Lydia asked.

He waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Just listen for my call."

Both perked up at that, recognizing the phrase and giving him a nod in response.

Ketar waved goodbye as Serana followed him out. Less than a minute later, they were on Odahviing's back and headed to the peak of the tallest mountain in Skyrim.

…

"Are you sure they'll come?"

Paarthurnax cast Ketar a peeved look. "Do you doubt my word?"

He frowned. "No, only the pull of your Voice on them."

The dragon snorted. "They will come, _Dovahkiin_. I assure you, they will come."

Ketar sighed and leaned against a nearby stone wall, on the top of which sat his dragon mentor. In the week following Alduin's defeat, Ketar had been communicating back and forth with Paarthurnax through the Greybeards, setting up this particular event well in advance to give the attendants as long as possible to set their affairs in order. Less than half an hour earlier, Paarthurnax's Voice had echoed across the wind in a call that reached far and wide at Ketar's behest. Now all they could do was wait.

And wait they did, for another fifteen minutes, before the first roars were heard over the blizzard threatening to cover the mountain in another foot of snow. And then they came down from the sky like rain, one, five, a dozen at once. Ketar's eyes widened at the sheer volume, feeling more than a bit nervous at being so utterly surrounded by dragons. When the influx seemed to calm, he managed to count almost two dozen dragons of various shapes, sizes, and colors strewn across the slopes of the mountain peak. And every single one of them was staring at him.

Seized by the sudden urge to bolt, Ketar clenched his fists and set his jaw as he strode out into the open, into the middle of the clearing. He glanced back at Serana, who was leaning against Odahviing's neck and smiling at him reassuringly. His eyes slipped shut and a deep, calming breath entered his lungs as he turned back to the assembled dragons.

" _Lot'dovahhe_ , _kiire do_ Akatosh," he bowed in greeting, " _drem yol lok._ "

They all tipped their heads and Spoke as one, " _Dovahkiin_."

Another calming breath was inhaled. "I've called you here for several reasons. The first is to acknowledge the previous conflict between us and, hopefully, lay it to rest. My contention was with Alduin, under whose leadership many of you chafed and raged. I have no quarrel with you unless you continue to follow in his oppression. The second is to ask all of you something. The answer to this question is not to be decided on lightly, and you will soon understand why." He started pacing. "As many of you already know, I am not the only Dragonborn still operating in this world.

"The First Dragonborn, Miraak, has returned with knowledge from Oblivion. He has already used this knowledge to enslave and kill many of your brethren, and he has no intention of stopping. On the contrary, with Alduin gone, he has accelerated his timetable, and now intends to bring an army of dragons and Daedra from Apocrypha to impose his will on the world as he has on them." His jaw clenched and eyes hardened. "I intend to stop him…but I cannot do so alone." He looked around at all of them. "I need your help."

The assembled dragons rumbled amongst each other, their emotions all but unreadable, but one in particular rising to the fore.

It was with this concern that one, a burgundy-scaled dragon with a gentler, female voice spoke up. "You expect us to follow you into battle with one who can dominate our wills? And why should we risk this for the sake of a few mortals?"

Ketar's eyes narrowed. "Because that's what you were _meant_ to do."

A collective growl carried among them.

"When Akatosh created our race, he intended us to safeguard the lives of those under our charge, which is to say the entire world. Alduin corrupted that and turned it on its head, turned you into something to be feared rather than respected."

"As if that could still be the case," said another. "The mortals of this world despise us; it is ingrained into their very being."

"Then give them a reason _not_ to!" Ketar sighed hard. "Look, I wouldn't be asking this of you if I didn't have a plan. These people may not trust you, but they trust me, and any allies I have at my side."

"That still does not account for Miraak," said the first one.

Ketar nodded slowly. "I know. And for that, I have a fix. However, this is the reason I said the decision is not one to be made lightly." He drew himself up and took a deep breath, mentally crossing his fingers. "I now bear the same knowledge he does." He gulped when they didn't immediately respond. "That is to say, I know the Shout he uses to bend the will of others in its entirety."

And _now_ they caught on, because all of them immediately began growling.

" _Drem_!" Ketar Shouted, managing to get their attention. "If I'd intended to use it so blithely, I'd have _done_ it already, and we wouldn't be having this conversation." He started pacing. "I called you here because I'm _not_ like Miraak, because I will never _be_ like him, but to beat him, I must use a countermeasure for his power."

"So to prevent our wills from being bent," said a third dragon, "you would bend it first?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes, but only with your leave. Odahviing, my friend, told me once that the _Thu'um_ of a dragon is shaped by the kind of person they are. Miraak is a corrupt madman who desires control above all else. Thus, those who fall under his spell are robbed of their free will and independence." His head shook. "That's not who I am. If you allow me to inoculate you against his Voice, it will be for this battle, and this battle alone." He smiled. "You've been under the thumb of tyrants for too long already.

"My final directive will be to go your own way, to make your own decision and forge a new path in life." Ketar put a hand over his heart and bowed his head reverently. "This I swear, on my blood and honor as Dragonborn. If I deceive you, may Akatosh himself strike me down. I wish for nothing more than to free those who are under Miraak's domination, to at least give them a choice, same as you. If you want this too, then I need your help to make it happen." He cast them a hard look. "However, I will not allow you to come with me unless you permit me the use of my Voice. I cannot risk you being turned to Miraak's side."

Another series of grumbles sounded through the attending dragons, the burgundy-scaled one eventually speaking up. "What guarantee do we have that your _Thu'um_ can overpower his?"

"I defeated Alduin, didn't I?" Ketar smirked malevolently. "And besides that, I know for a fact that I have overpowered his Voice before. This is why Miraak fears me, and makes all haste to summon his army before I can assemble a force powerful enough to challenge him. If you do not believe me, then taste of my _Thu'um_!" He drew himself up, broadening his shoulders and taking a deep breath. " _Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau_!" He took another breath, his Voice booming with every word. " _Naal Thu'um se Sadon'klov, zu kodaav nii ko naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth_!"

Behind him, Odahviing and Serana were staring at him with different types of admiration. The former because he'd already pledged himself to Ketar's service as penance for letting Serana down (despite both their insistence to the contrary) and was seeing further evidence that he made the right decision. The latter, well…Ketar suspected he wouldn't be getting out of bed until tomorrow afternoon when he got home.

Deciding to deal with that later, Ketar took another breath and continued his chant. " _Zu'u Ysmir, Dovahsebrom_! _Dahmaan daar rok_!" His hands curled into fists as he declared the final stanza of his directive, of his identity. " _Zu'u Dovahkiin, faal joor haal do Akatosh_!"

As the final waves of this _Thu'um_ washed over the dragons assembled before him, Ketar felt a ripple of twofold emotions surge through his audience. The first, of course, was fear. He had slain the World-Eater, after all, the firstborn, and they now understood just how he had managed to overpower their previous master. The second was pure, unbridled awe. They sat there, stunned by what they'd heard and felt, for almost a full minute before that same burgundy dragon spoke up once more.

"You are the one."

Ketar's head cocked. "Excuse me?"

"Brelyna Maryon and the boy called Agmaer…they spoke to me of you once, _Dovahkiin_ , of your power. I believed that they exaggerated because they had not experienced what we have, but…I was wrong."

Ketar's eyes narrowed curiously. "You're Dolotlah."

She bowed her head slightly. "I am."

He smiled. "Well, I appreciate the help you lent them."

She smiled a bit, then turned to her fellow dragons. "The _Dovahkiin_ has Spoken, and I for one believe him." She shifted her gaze back to Ketar. "I will stand with you."

Ketar bowed his head in acknowledgement. "You honor me."

A collective grumble overtook the rest of the dragons before one by one, all but two gave their assent, and of those two, they were followers of Paarthurnax and sworn to nonviolence. Ketar respected their wishes, as he had promised.

"So how shall this work?" asked Dolotlah as she descended to their level.

Ketar blinked once, twice, and looked back to Odahviing and Paarthurnax, who gave the dragon equivalent of a shrug. "Honestly," he turned back to them, "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

They blinked at him.

Odahviing cleared his throat and moved forward. " _Thuri_ , if I may. I have already sworn myself to your service. As such, I volunteer to be the first touched by your _Thu'um_."

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "As you wish, my friend."

They faced each other, bowing slightly in respect, and when Ketar straightened himself up, he closed his eyes in focus. This was not a matter of domination, but a contract between two equals; a sign of vassalage and loyalty, not control. With any Shout, the user's intent shaped its effects somewhat. The first time he'd ever learned how to use fire breath, Ketar had been told to Shout it at Paarthurnax. Of course, he hadn't wanted to hurt his mentor, and with that intent, his first Word carried over the dragon like a heat wave in summer rather than the searing heat he used on his enemies.

In this same way, the mutual trust and loyalty shared between the two _dovah_ now guided his Voice and drew all three Words from his inner being in a gentle, caring manner rather than the forceful shackles employed by Miraak.

" _Gol-Hah-Dov_!"

As the opalescent light of his Shout washed over Odahviing, the dragon's features shifted from startled to surprised to elated, in rapid succession.

"This…is nothing like that _sivaas_ ," said Odahviing. "Innumerable thanks, _thuri_."

Ketar's head bowed slightly, and then he turned to the rest. "So who's next?"

…

He hadn't been wrong about Serana's intentions for him when they got home. All told, it had taken almost an hour to inoculate all the dragons, and by the time he was done, he was _exhausted_ , even more than he had been after forging the Visage. Thus, she'd spent the first hour after returning massaging his sore body into something resembling relaxation. The hour after that was…well, that was for "taking care" of him. After the four sleepless days he'd just endured, he was not about to argue.

At present, Serana was stroking his bare chest with one hand while she used his shoulder as a pillow and he absently stroked her back while staring at the ceiling.

"Have you named it yet?"

She looked up at him. "Named what?"

He nodded at her discarded belt, where her new dagger sat.

"Oh." She nuzzled his shoulder and kept stroking his muscles. "Well…I had some time to burn when I was waiting for you to finish with the dragons, so…yeah I gave it some thought."

"And?"

Serana's lips quirked with a smile. "I was thinking ' _Jot'kreinmah_.'"

Ketar's eyebrows shot upward. "You—"

He was stunned into shock for twofold reasons. The first, because he hadn't anticipated her naming it in _Dovahzul_ ; and the second, what the name itself meant.

"Sunset's Bite. That's…" he smiled widely and leaned down to kiss her, one hand tucking back her hair, "it's perfect."

Serana smiled and kissed his neck, gently nipping the skin there.

He chuckled and hissed a bit. "I do need to sleep, you know."

"Hmm…don't mistake my intention. I've had my fill of your body—" she grinned, "—for now."

His eyes widened slightly. "Ah." He tipped his neck to one side to give her better access. "Go ahead love."

Serana nodded and nuzzled his neck, taking a long inhale before gently sinking her fangs into his flesh. He sighed as a familiar lightheaded feeling stole over him, stroking his wife's hair and the leg she'd possessively hooked over his body. A few moments later, she broke away and kissed the puncture marks closed, as always. He responded by pulling her closer and burying his face in her neck.

"I love you," he mumbled into her skin, "no matter what happens."

She stroked his hair, whispering into his ear. "I know exactly what's going to happen. You're going to rally the greatest gathering of heroes Skyrim has ever seen, and then you're going to kick the shit out of your older brother. And I'll be cheering you on the whole time." She kissed the side of his head. "And _then_ we're gonna have our honeymoon."

Ketar chuckled and kissed her neck. "Yeah. That sounds good to me."

She rolled them over so he used her chest as a pillow. "Now get some rest, love…and don't worry about a thing."

"Mmm…yes ma'am."

…

It was still before dawn when it happened. And by "it" meaning an eruption of violet light from the gem of Nocturnal's Embrace so bright, it sent Ketar flying from the bed in readiness. That, of course, immediately woke Serana, who was about to groan and yank him back on top of her until she realized why he was up. And then they both huddled around the amulet and listened carefully.

"Ketar—it's happening."

His eyes widened. "What do you mean it's happening? What's going on?"

"An unnatural fog just descended over the entire island, and then there was an explosion of green light from the direction of Miraak's Temple."

Ketar's jaw clenched. "Have you had any contact with the enemy?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time. Miraak wants us to know he's coming."

"Yeah…" he snarled, "asshole. Just hang in there, Karliah. We'll be there soon." He silenced the connection and turned to Serana, who was already getting dressed. "So…this is it."

She smiled viciously. "Oh yeah. This is it."

Her confidence was absolutely infectious, so it was mere seconds before he was grinning as well. "Let's go make sure I really am the Last Dragonborn."

…

Never before had so many traveled the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar, and certainly not so many at once, from completely different places and walks of life. The heavily armored and armed Companions marched side-by-side with the robed mages of Winterhold. In light leathers typical of rogues were the denizens of the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood, whose bodies were difficult to pick out in the darkness just before dawn. Even Esbern had come with the Blades, arrayed in light armor that would put less strain on his aging joints. Each and every one of them had just _known_ when Ketar gave his call, the echo of his Voice unmistakable even through rock and stone, over the howling wind and bustle of cities.

And they had known exactly where to go.

Inexplicably, they'd arrived at the mountain of the Greybeards at the same time and begun their climb together. Some refused to talk with the others, while others made easy casual conversation. All knew what was at stake. Ketar had been quite explicit about that in his letters. And yet, despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—they had all listened for and answered his call. And as one, they made the climb to the Throat of the World, the Greybeards themselves helping to clear a path through the ever-present blizzard that encircled the mountain's peak. By the time they reached the top, they were somewhat tired, but the sight that greeted them chased away their fatigue.

Specifically, two figures standing before a curved stone wall with runic carvings on its surface. One was in dark metal armor, with a cloak secured by an ornate brooch and two black weapons on her belt, a basket-hilted sword and a thin-bladed dagger. The other, well…when he turned his uncovered head to face them, his face was unmistakable, but his armor was like something out of a fairy tale. Patterned much like the hybrid plate-lamellar armor of the Blades, but made entirely of midnight-black dragon scales and leather, Ketar stood at his usual imposing height encased in an armor that made him look like a nightmare given flesh.

But his feeling…even without an empathic connection or the ability to use the Voice, every soul present could feel the determination radiating off him as he strode toward them, stopping some distance off. He scanned the crowd, a hard look to his eyes, before he took a breath and projected his voice across the mountain peak.

"Warriors of Skyrim! You are here because you believe, as I do, that every person in this world deserves the right to choose their own path. Make no mistake, the mission you are about to undertake will not be an easy one, and many of you will not come back. However, the actions you take today will be remembered for ages to come as the dividing line between the rule of madman and the prosperous tomorrow we all want. As we speak, this enemy advances on the last bastion of hope on the island of Solstheim, and they will not yield to anything but force." His eyes narrowed. "So we will meet them in kind… _if_ you are willing."

Kodlak Whitemane stepped forward and away from Valerica, who had accompanied him on the climb. "I don't think any one of us would've come if we weren't. However, wanting to fight is distinctly different than being able to. After all, how will we get there? Solstheim is at least two days by ship, and we're on a _mountain_."

Ketar's lips twitched with a smile that sent a sizeable chill down the spines of those present. "Oh, don't worry about that." He turned around, looking back at them with a predatory grin. "I've got it covered." He turned back to the mountain and took a deep breath. " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

Within seconds, the thick snow and fog over the Throat of the World dissipated, revealing nearly two dozen dragons circling the peak and descending at the sound of the Dragonborn's Voice. They landed in front of and around the assembled forces, two Blades immediately rushing toward one with burgundy scales.

"Dolotlah!" Brelyna shouted. "You're here!"

The dragon chuckled. "As are you. It's good to see you both in such good health." She bent her neck. "Now climb up. We haven't much time."

They nodded their assent and exchanged a grin as they clambered onto Dolotlah's back.

"Mount up!" Ketar shouted to the rest of his allies as he and Serana did so with Odahviing.

Some eagerly, some reluctantly, everyone assembled chose a dragon and climbed aboard in pairs…even Esbern, although the old man insisted on having Delphine between him and their dragon's head. Lydia and Brynjolf mounted onto a _very_ colorful dragon with orange and blue patterns to its scales. And—to no one's surprise—Valerica took the back of a steel-gray dragon with Kodlak. In each case, it seemed like the dragons and their riders were _meant_ to be allied, in perfect sync and harmony.

When everyone was mounted, Ketar raised his right fist and his voice with it. "Ride now for Solstheim, and for war!"

He threw his arm forward, and as one, the dragons launched from the Throat of the World, with Odahviing and his riders leading the way.

…

In the time it had taken for Ketar's allies to assemble, things on Solstheim had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Specifically, the impenetrable fog had thickened even further, and was filled with the growls and roars of monsters they couldn't even see. Frea was leading the defense of Raven Rock, and as such, she had soldiers posted across the mountainous slopes between the city and the Temple of Miraak. Despite assistance from Fort Frostmoth and the forces of the Skaal warriors, they were losing men to the fog, made no easier to see through by the early dawn light.

To make matters worse, the fog was advancing even faster now, overtaking them before they could retreat, and all around her, the screams of dying warriors carried through the air, mixed with the vocalizations of the monsters slaying them.

Frea's teeth gritted as she gripped her axes tightly. "Stand firm! This is our home, and we will not let it fall!"

Something whipped out at her, and she just managed to deflect it with her axes, but found herself laid out by a wave of concussive energy that sent her flying through the air—and her weapons from her hands.

The ominous rumbles of something very large approached her steadily, the monstrous scaled head of a dragon slowly emerging from the parting fog. Her eyes widened in pure terror as the creature took a deep breath.

" _Yol—_ "

She couldn't even move, her mind just repeating, _Not like this…not like this…_

"— _Toor-Shul_!"

The instant before the white-hot flames engulfed Frea's armored body, a female figure in full plate armor descended from the sky and landed in a crouch, her glowing aegis sending the fire flowing all around them as she stood between the prone woman and death. The dragon, evidently incensed by this, attempted to Shout once more, but found itself unable to when a blast of violet energy impacted it from above and robbed it of its energy. Heavy wingbeats sounded all around them, and despite being unable to see through the fog, Frea just knew they were surrounded by dragons.

Two more light impacts sounded from behind her, and through the fog strode a figure she almost didn't recognize because of his armor. There was no mistaking the fury in his eyes though, either as he strode past her, black cloak flapping in his wake, or as he took a breath and projected his Voice over the field.

" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

The blinding fog immediately gave way before the power of his _Thu'um_ , billowing and dissipating into nothingness and revealing a large encroaching force of dragons, Daedra, and dominated mortals. Large, but not unstoppable. Behind and above them, however, was another matter entirely. All around the field of battle flew dragons too numerous to count, and from their backs dropped figures in armor, robes, and leathers; arrayed with weapons of all types, some of which she'd never seen, and bearing the same steely determination as their leader. Who was now flanked on either side by the aegis-bearing woman who saved Frea and the woman who now bore his name.

Ketar slowly twirled his sword from its sheath on his back, sending a threatening glare at a figure at the back and top of the opposing force as he lifted the weapon into the air like a war banner. "Charge forth! For honor! And for Tamriel!"

And with that, the Last Dragonborn surged into the fray.

…

When Ketar charged toward Miraak's battle lines, everyone behind him followed, as if driven by some primal instinct—or just their shared belief in the man that had called them together. Dragons rained down fire and ice from above while the mages of Winterhold networked their spells into gigantic arrays of Destruction magic that consumed entire columns of Seekers. The Companions hit the enemy lines around the same time as Ketar, who spun and sent his first strike into the lower leg of a Lurker, severing it at the knee and leaving it vulnerable to Serana's finishing blow.

One incoming swipe after another was batted aside by his impenetrable guard, countered with quick ripostes or taken care of by his fellow warriors. One after another, the entire Circle of the Companions transformed into werewolves, surging into the ranks of the enemy like a pack of wolves through a herd of elk. The assassins and thieves of the Brotherhood and Guild bombarded the enemy with volleys of arrows and weaved through their confused ranks to shank the most vulnerable elements of the opposing force. The Blades prioritized the dragons above all else, though they aimed primarily to cripple, not kill, as did the dragons they fought with as allies.

Ketar hamstrung a dominated Reaver before kicking another to the ground, catching sight of an Ash Guardian surrounded by a squadron of Ash Spawn. He immediately shifted his attention to the encroaching Daedra and broke off into a sprint with Serana at his back. A furious roar bellowed from his chest as he leapt twenty feet through the air, the runes and sapphire of Alduin's Bane glowing as he brought it down on the Guardian's head like a meteor.

…

From a tower on an isle many hundreds of miles away, two pairs of eyes glimpsed the struggle of the Last Dragonborn through an ethereal eye hovering over the entire battlefield. One pair, gold as honey, was fixed on Ketar's black-clad form, an unmistakable glint of pride in their depths as their owner smiled.

"Milord?" asked a man behind him, arrayed in silvery blue armor. "Are we ready?"

He smiled and nodded, turning around and marching past his friend. "Yes."

On the opposite end of the tower were two things of note. The first was a rippling portal, the other side of which contained the very same scene they had just scryed. The other was a twenty-five-foot-long lizard with sapphire-colored scales and a saddle on his neck. As the armored man strode over to the creature's side and gently pet the scales of his head, the other approached the portal with a tight jaw and a hardness in his eyes.

"I do believe he's waited long enough."

* * *

AN: I liiiiive! Which is a very important distinction to make because I was afraid I wouldn't be alive because of the massive workload I have. Thankfully, I managed to bang out most of it by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, thus my gift to all of you. I have had this one scene planned… _forever_ , every bit as much as Alduin's final moments. Now that it's finally here, I can, as usual, only hope that I've done it justice.

Don't know when I'll be able to get the next part out because I'm visiting a friend and want to spend as much time with them as possible, but we'll see.

Happy Thanksgiving guys!

Drake out.

Dragon language translations:

" _Fah fin moro do_ Akatosh _, ahrk fin qahnaar do vokul, zu fonaar hi voth fin ahmik do laas, nol nu wah fin oblaan do sulle_." – For the glory of Akatosh, and the vanquishing of evil, I charge you with the service of life, from now to the end of days.

" _Thuri do Dovahhe_ _" – Master of Dragons_

 _"Lot'dovahhe_ , _kiire do_ Akatosh, _drem yol lok._ " – Great dragons, children of Akatosh, greetings.

" _Drem_ _!" – Peace!_

" _Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau_! _Naal Thu'um se Sadon'klov, zu kodaav nii ko naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth_! _Zu'u Ysmir, Dovahsebrom_! _Dahmaan daar rok_! _Zu'u Dovahkiin, faal joor haal do Akatosh_!" – "Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon! By the Voice of the Greybeards, I bear it in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old! I am Ysmir, the Dragon of the North! Hearken to it! I am Dragonborn, the mortal hand of Akatosh!"

" _sivaas_ _"_ – monster

Musical inspirations:

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword – The Born King: start-1:12—"what you were _meant_ to do"/explaining the inoculation, 1:12-end—"taste of my _Thu'um_!"/declaration in _Dovahzul_ /"You are the one"

TES V: Skyrim – Dragonborn: start-0:35—Ketar's speech/Kodlak's declaration/Clear Skies, 0:35-0:50—dragons descend, 0:50-1:25—Dolotlah's greetings/mounting up/takeoff, 1:25-1:54—impenetrable fog/"Not like this", 1:54-2:09—Lydia descends/surrounded by wingbeats/" _Lok-Vah-Koor_!", 2:09-2:30—fog clears/the heroes' arrival/"For Tamriel!", 2:30-2:52—into the fray/Ketar's leap, 2:52-end—golden eyes/end of chapter


	20. The Last Dragonborn, Part II

War.

Such a small word. Such dire implications. The lands and halls of Zhanik'la had seen many a war in their day, and would undoubtedly see more to come. On this day, however, the Avatars of Power and Skill were to join a war beyond their shores, bound not by the obligation of nationalism but by personal loyalty. The Avatar of Skill verified that his Dwarven bolt launcher was loaded, the straps around his left shoulder and waist filled with knives and bolts, and quickly secured the rest of his weapons to his person.

The Avatar of Power stood in the center of his tower, his royal finery and crimson cloak flapping in the wind of the open canopy, the portal beyond its opening rippling with royal purple energy. His arms splayed out to the sides and eyes slipped shut, a surge of focus prompting an old familiar twinge of connection that sent plates of golden metal flying from all across the room and affixing themselves to his body piece by piece. Slowly but surely, he was encased from head to toe in interlocking plates of alchemic armor, the last few cascading up the back of his neck to enclose his head and face in a full helmet with a Y-shaped visor.

The moment the last piece was in place, he strode toward the portal, extending his right arm to the side and summoning a gold-and-jewel-encrusted sword to his hand. It twirled into a sheath at his left hip a moment later, its owner never breaking his stride. The Avatar of Skill was right behind him, walking beside his sapphire-scaled friend and leaping astride his neck, onto a low-profile saddle for that express purpose. The two avatars exchanged a look and nod before spurring onward into a charge and leap that carried them through the portal.

The dawn of the new day on Solstheim was bright and clear, at least for the first few minutes. However, a little while in and the sky began to roil and rumble with fierce thunderclouds, sending buckets of rain pouring onto the icy shores of the island. The sizzle of lightning crackled and exploded through the air, far more often than any ordinary storm, until it became clear that _this_ storm had a mind of its own. Through the thick, heavy clouds flew a great winged beast of sapphire hide, its rider attempting to survey the situation below until it became clear that the cover was too thick to see anything of value.

And when it dove below the thunderclouds, beast and rider were privy to a sight that Solstheim had never seen before.

Light and blood and the screams of battle filled the air and surface of the island's mountainous slopes. Bodies, both moving and fallen, were strewn about for miles, and no piece of land was uncontested, from Hirstaang Forest all the way to Lake Fjalding. The lightning from the clouds struck one location after another, but only ever on one side of the battle.

Dragons and Daedra tangled with each other in fearsome duels of might and magic, while undead and corrupted mortals charged the ranks of the free men and women of Solstheim, who were desperately holding a shield wall. Their salvation came from the magics of the College of Winterhold, when Master Wizard Tolfdir ordered the simultaneous casting of a singular spell among a dozen apprentices, their combined power forming a magical artillery barrage that annihilated the brunt of the incoming force and gave the shield wall less to push back against. From the side came a troop of Imperial cavalry from Fort Frostmoth, their _spathae_ cleaving through the armor of the Draugr forces.

One of the elder Draugr drew a breath and unleashed three Words of Power, toppling the middle of their attacking column and sending them tumbling into the path of the horses behind them. Aiming to take advantage of their prone position, the Draugr and cultists pushed forward, ready to fall upon their helpless enemy, only to find themselves run down and trampled by a burgundy-scaled dragon who dropped off two armored forms before returning to the sky. As one, the man and Elf surged into the enemy with crossbow and katana, the woman keeping her man safe while he laid magical bolts into the tightest clusters of undead.

From behind a solid shield wall of Draugr charged a massive Ash Guardian, whose steaming body spun and primed for a brilliant detonation that would wipe out the entire front line of defenders, the two riders and dismounted cavalry included. That detonation's effect was reduced to nothing when a pale, armored form leapt between them and the explosion, a glowing violet gem in her right hand and a hard-light shield projecting from the same. The moment the heat dissipated to tolerable levels, a figure clad in all-black, with a hood and mask still down, laying across his shoulders and a sapphire-hearted dragon embossed on his chest; surged from between his allies and lunged straight for the monster's heart.

The runed blade of Alduin's Bane pierced the pulsing rock from below, the creature roaring in agony until the sword was torn loose and swept back and up for a falling swipe that cleaved its heart in two. The victory was short-lived, however, as in the wake of the crumbling Guardian, there came an entire platoon of undead and Seekers rushing for their line. The clouds on their left parted with a brief burst of sunlight as the sapphire beast descended and drew in a breath.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

As the creature strafed the field of battle, putting a burning line between the defenders and monsters, the black-armored figure couldn't seem to take his eyes off it. Far different from any other dragon he had seen, this lizard was a lithe, sleek specimen with _four_ legs and a pair of wings.

And it had a saddle—an _empty_ saddle.

Suddenly, a blinding glint of pure gold came from the space directly beyond the flames, a raven-haired man in silvery blue armor tearing through a cluster of Draugr with an eight-foot spear. The others rushed to join him, eyes widening in recognition and elation as they cleared out enough of the enemy to gain some breathing room.

"Bard!" shouted Serana. "You made it!"

The Lord Protector grinned at her and her husband. "I did." Then he nodded toward the sky. "And so did he."

Frowning in confusion, husband and wife turned their eyes toward the slowly dissipating clouds, just managing to make out a rapidly-growing speck of gold and red. Suddenly, the crack of thunder split the air—but not from the lightning. The space directly below the speck flared with a cone of thick white mist, the speck itself accelerating to all but impossible speeds as it careened toward the ground. And then it _landed_ , just under a quarter mile ahead of them, in the middle of a Seeker squadron. The Seekers, at present, were acting as centurions over teams of Draugr and cultists.

When the new arrival landed, the impact alone cracked the earth beneath and sent most of them tumbling to the ground. Before the dust had even settled, a single lane of it parted to permit a large man in golden armor, not a single feature or patch of skin visible under the interlocking plates. But Ketar would know that red cloak anywhere. A sword of a strange silvery metal, with a golden, crossguard hilt and three jewels vertically fixed to the base of the blade, flashed and beat back the enemy like a tidal wave as its master dashed from one Draugr to another like lightning. So fast was he that Ketar could hardly track his speed.

One could even say it was… _blinding_.

Every time his sword struck, it flared with light, and its victim was sent crumpling or flying into the dust or its comrades. One after another was felled in rapid succession, the blade flipped into an underhanded grip as he took the head off a heavily armored Draugr, then grabbed another by the neck and with one arm threw it into a pile of other undead. A jewel on his left gauntlet flared with light as that hand snapped outward in a casting motion, the entire dogpile of Draugr crushed inside their armor by a blast of concussive energy. All around him, Seekers and their underlings swarmed in as he returned his blade to its normal hold.

With his empty hand, he reached up to his neck and gripped the stone of an amulet of some sort. A split-second later, the clouds above thickened once more, and lances of white lightning stabbed toward the ground, through the entire attacking cluster in outward-branching spears of energy that each found a target. Half-dumbstruck, Ketar and Serana ran up alongside the armored figure with Bard, that faceless helmet turning to face them—to face _him_ —and nod once in respect. Ketar felt an uncontrollable shiver run through his body at the sight of him in full armor, but nodded back all the same as he returned his attention to Miraak's advancing force.

Standing on an open field, facing down an army of extradimensional monsters with vastly limited forces on his side—and two Avatars of Zhanik'la. Ketar's instincts had never lied to him once, and right now, as he pulled his mask down and they charged into the enemy…

He was very glad not to be Miraak.

…

A shower of dirt and snow fell over the Companions' battle lines, the shield of Njada Stonearm keeping the worst of it out of the warriors' faces as they lay in ambush for an advancing Seeker squad. Though the song of battle rang in their blood fiercer than ever, an ever-present worry kept them from enjoying the fight as freely as they'd have liked. That worry was named Kodlak. Their Harbinger was far fuller of youthful vigor and vitality than they'd seen him in _years_ , but he was still old and a half-step slower than he had once been. Vilkas, loyal boy that he was, had practically stayed glued to his side the whole time, which was making Kodlak more than a bit cross.

An attitude that was somewhat allayed by frequent visits from—oh, here she came now.

A thick cloud of black bats materialized from seemingly nowhere, coalescing into the lightly armored form of Valerica, who resolved into a crouched position next to the Harbinger.

"What did you see?" he asked her.

Valerica frowned and narrowed her eyes in focus, pointing forward and into the air to indicate a direction. "Two Seekers this time, with a full complement of troops, Draugr and mortals."

Aela snarled. "Damn cowards. Can't fight without a slave army behind them."

"Miraak does it because he knows we'll hesitate to strike them down," said Vilkas.

Farkas cast his brother a look. "Dov never said we couldn't."

"But all the same," said the Harbinger, "they had no choice in the matter. Is it right that they fall for the sins of a liege they did not choose?"

"Of course not," Valerica scoffed, "but consider this: many of your opponents on this field are brave, valiant Nords. Would you rather force on them the memory of being subjugated by a tyrant and pitted against their countrymen or allow them an honorable death in combat?" Her jaw clenched. "I would consider it a mercy."

Kodlak's eyes slipped shut as he reached for the steel warhammer on his back. "I see your point, and yet it gives me but a little comfort." A heavy sigh passed his lips. "Very well. May Shor accept you into his loving embrace, and we meet once more, on better terms in his Hall." He pulled the warhammer off his back and hefted it like a war banner. "Hail the valorous dead!"

As one, the Companions answered, "Hail!"

And like a torrent of magma that spills over the side of a volcano, they descended on their enemy.

…

"Fascinating! When did it occur to you to network your spells in this manner?"

"Well, after the current Arch-Mage studied the Eye of Magnus a bit, he was able to put together the beginnings of a formula for a magical array. From there, I expanded on his research to complete this array, although to be honest, it is rather elementary."

"Elementary or no, it is most _certainly_ effective!"

Delphine cast the two elder mages a small glare from where she was holding back two manic cultists singlehandedly. "Esbern! Tolfdir! Less geeking, more casting!"

"Ah—of course, my dear."

The pair exchanged a small nod before turning to the mass of Draugr encroaching on Delphine's left flank and standing shoulder-to-shoulder while they prepared their spells. Nearby, to give them a little more time, Agmaer and Brelyna fired off ranged attacks of fire and ice using their enchanted bolts and spellcraft, effectively putting down an exploding elemental wall between Delphine and the undead. A Seeker flew forth and spewed something from its grotesque mouth that shook the ground and snuffed out their magic in a small area, permitting the Draugr to advance in single-file.

From there, it was child's play to eliminate them one after the next, though concentrating on the advancing column took attention away from the wall.

"Archers!"

Agmaer's head snapped around to see Frea raising her Stalhrim axe ahead of a line of Skaal and Dark Elf archers.

"Ready!"

They drew their missiles back as the wall dimmed further and further.

"Aim!"

Agmaer and Brelyna scrambled for cover as Delphine clocked the last of the cultists unconscious and fled with them.

"Loose!"

A torrent of iron and Nordic steel arrows flew toward the undead squadron, taking out the first two rows of them and creating a small barrier that managed to slow the rest considerably. Which gave Esbern and Tolfdir time to complete their smaller array. Their hands glowed with violet and cyan magic, the energy combining midair to form luminous interlocking arcs of magic and runes that encircled them. As one, they thrust their hands forward and used the array as a basis to launch an explosion of glowing tendrils that shot out and latched onto every single Draugr and even the Seekers.

The effect was the instant mass paralysis of the entire encroaching force, followed by the vanishing of both Seekers and one-by-one dimming of the Draugr's glowing eyes. Delphine and the Blades-in-training stepped out from behind the evergreen trees they were using for cover, staring at the sight agape.

"What did you _do_?" asked Brelyna.

Tolfdir cleared his throat. "Well, I utilized a mass paralysis enchantment in the formation of the array as a base."

"From there," added Esbern, "I added a spell capable of sending even high Daedra back to Oblivion and…well, I suppose the two combined took on a mind of their own."

Brelyna's red eyes widened. "Paralysis…banishing…by weakening the bodies of the Draugr, you were able to sever the connection between their spirits and corpses. You banished their animating force from our world."

Both their eyebrows shot upward, and they exchanged a glance before sharing a small laugh.

"Not exactly a repeat possibility on any frequent basis," Tolfdir said.

"Agreed," Esbern groaned. "Took a lot out of these old bones."

Delphine rolled her eyes and wiped off her katana, casting her eyes on the snowy mountain peak overlooking Lake Fjalding, where half a dozen dragons, three fighting for each side, were facing off in a battle of Voices. Her head shook slowly. "Never thought I'd see the day when I looked up at them and saw anything but death."

Esbern snorted. "For now, we have a common enemy in Miraak, but after…" he frowned at the harsh looks he was getting from the recruits, "I suppose we'll see."

…

"Ugh, shame we don't have our third to make this even!"

Brynjolf snorted as Karliah popped out of cover to send another arrow into an unsuspecting Ash Spawn. "The last Nightingale is exactly where he needs to be, and so are we."

She groaned. "I know. Still, we aren't soldiers. We're not equipped or trained for such a pitched battle."

" _I_ am! Raaaargh!"

Karliah and Brynjolf stared at a maniacally laughing Lydia as she charged shield-first into a trio of cultists, bowling them all over and body-slamming a fourth with her chestplate as the point of contact.

"…your girlfriend is a real piece of work."

Brynjolf grinned behind his mask and drew his daggers. "Aye. Just the right amount of crazy for a dashing rogue like myself."

Karliah snorted and fired an arrow into the knee of a cultist trying to clock Lydia in the back of her head. "Rogue? Sure. Dashing…debatable."

Brynjolf threw her one last glance. "Tell _her_ that."

And then he charged off to join Lydia in the center of the carnage, the edges of which were constantly being nipped at by the other thieves and assassins of the Dark Brotherhood. No matter how many times they worked together, the Brotherhood sorts _always_ unnerved Brynjolf. Especially that Nazir…and his pet vampire (or was it the other way around? He could never tell). At present, they were using the cloud and tree cover to avoid prying eyes before ambushing small clusters of enemies with scimitars and daggers. In full Brotherhood uniform, Babette looked more like a stunted woman or Bosmer than the pre-teen girl she insisted on resembling.

Whatever his feelings, Brynjolf couldn't doubt that they were effective. Better that they were there than not, but after this was over, he and Ketar were going to have a _long_ talk about curbing the cultic aspects of that organization.

"Bryn!"

Lydia's shout immediately grabbed his attention, eyes widening behind his mask when he saw her desperately hanging onto a Lurker's head-fins. Sighing, Brynjolf ran toward them, the woman's plate-armored form thrashing about like a ragdoll as she hung onto the enraged creature for dear life. Spotting Brynjolf, the Lurker snarled and spewed acid in his direction, the thief deftly twirling mid-step around its corrosive bile while keeping his pace. Lydia expanded the retracted Spellbreaker when it made to vomit once more, using both hands to jam its edge into the Lurker's eyes.

It roared and groped, her occupied hands unable to keep her suspended any longer when it grabbed onto her and began shaking her around violently. Brynjolf plunged both his daggers into the Lurker's knee to the hilt, but only got a backhanded whack to the side of his head for his trouble. The creature tried to take Lydia's head off with one bite, but clamped down around Spellbreaker's body instead as she kicked against the thing's arms and chest. Still shaking off his daze, Brynjolf saw Karliah busy suppressing a squad of Draugr archers and the Brotherhood mooks were nowhere to be found.

The Nightingale rolled his eyes and moaned his way upright, unsteady on his feet but determined to get back in the fight. He reached out with the tendril of magic tied to his Embrace and anchored it to the Lurker, feeling his strength rapidly return as he scrambled toward Lydia. A flash of bright steel in his peripheral vision caught his attention for a brief moment, a leather-clad figure roaring into a leaping strike that cleaved into the creature's injured leg. Brynjolf's eyes went wide, jaw dropping when he realized who it was.

"Dirge?!"

Lydia's frustrated growls caught his attention once more. "Focus, love!"

 _That_ got his attention even more.

Brynjolf was on the move in a second, lunging for the daggers still in the creature's knee but only managing to snag one before it moved, nearly clocking him again. Brynjolf rolled away, just managing to catch Dirge swinging at the limb currently holding Lydia; he couldn't seem to get a bead on the right spot to get her free. Bryn aimed to remedy this by permanently crippling the injured leg. With that train of thought, he aimed for the Lurker's hamstring (or where it should've been) and swung for it with everything he had as he dashed past. The combined speed and force of his body weight was behind the blow, and as a result cleaved straight through the sinuous, rock-hard muscle, sending it to one knee.

The Lurker roared and swung Lydia about like a bludgeon in an attempt to pulverize Brynjolf, but only managed to get him within arm's reach of her. Their hands clasped together tightly on the backswing, and he was yanked off his feet when he refused to let go. The Lurker seemed to have a bit of trouble moving both of them at once, but muscled through it anyway in an attempt to gnaw Lydia's legs off. Just before he was out of reach, Brynjolf plunged his dagger into the frozen ground, creating just enough of an anchor to give Dirge the opening he needed.

The creature bellowed in agony as the connective tissue on its grasping wrist was perforated halfway down the middle, forcing it to release Lydia into Brynjolf's waiting arms. She hissed and winced as soon as she touched down, holding onto him tightly.

"Lydia? What's wrong?"

She grimaced and clenched her jaw in pain. "Ankle…did _not_ appreciate all the swinging."

Brynjolf's lips pursed under his mask as he looked over Lydia's shoulder to see the Lurker glaring at them with murderous rage. "Uhh…"

It used its one good leg to lunge toward them, its good arm outstretched in a fist. Without much time to dodge, Brynjolf twisted them to the side and put his body between her and the brunt of the attack. The result was the instantaneous formation of a giant, fist-shaped bruise on his back and right shoulder from a glancing blow that still managed to lay them out. The creature's attention was drawn when Dirge drove his axe into the ankle of its other leg and got a backhand to the shoulder for his trouble. By the way he growled and grasped his shoulder, it was a near-dislocation.

Two arrows nailed the Lurker in the back, its body hissing with the rapid formation of deadly frost as Karliah joined the fight from a distance and managing to slow it long enough for Dirge to retreat a bit. Brynjolf looked from Lydia to Dirge to the Lurker and back, something glinting in the sunlight in the corner of his eye. He exchanged a look with his lover, who nodded and smiled as she bent down and wrapped her hand around the hilt of Chillrend.

"Dirge!"

The Nord thief turned his attention to Lydia, who'd called on him and was currently grinning like a madwoman with her sword in her hand.

"Catch!"

His eyebrows hiked upward as she snapped her arm into the air, sending her enchanted sword spiraling over the Lurker's head and straight into his right hand. With his axe in his left hand and Chillrend in his right, Dirge hurtled toward the Lurker with a fearsome war cry, the hood of his armor flopping back off his face with the force of the wind and his forward motion. Karliah kept pounding it in the back and legs, managing to bring it down to one knee once more. A well-placed arrow to its good leg forced it onto all fours, where Dirge saw his opportunity and took it.

Dirge charged toward the wretched thing's head, weapons at his sides, and ducked under the creature's first strike, the second countered by burying the head of his axe into the incoming fist. Unfortunately, the axe was imbedded too deep in its flesh to be held onto, so he left it behind and kept moving, leaping over its other arm and raising Chillrend in an underhanded hold, screaming at the top of his lungs. The sword plunged tip-first into the Lurker's head, going in almost to the hilt. The accursed Daedra's face seemed frozen in a monstrous approximation of pure shock just seconds before it literally was.

With a snarl and growl, he tore the sword loose, shattering its entire gigantic body into cold-steaming fragments. Dirge released a feral yell of triumph, holding the blade high and breathing heavily as he stared at the remains of its corpse.

"Hehehe…good kill."

Dirge whipped around to face Lydia, blushing and offering her Chillrend.

"Much obliged." She smiled and tipped her head, reaching out to take it. "You may not be a berserker, but you have the heart of a true Nord."

Brynjolf pulled his hood and mask back and grinned. "Aye, lad. You really saved us out there."

Dirge cleared his throat sharply and averted his gaze. "I should rejoin the battle."

"Think I saw your axe fly into that snow bank," said Lydia with a point of her sword.

"Thank you." He stopped halfway to the bank. "And…I'm sorry."

Lydia just blinked and cocked her head confusedly. "Eh? What are you on about? You're still here?"

His eyes widened. "Er—right."

He took off toward his axe and retrieved it, running off as soon as he had it.

Brynjolf and Lydia stood there for a while, just staring after him. Eventually, he turned his head to face her, lips pursed. "You never hurt your ankle, did you?"

Lydia smirked devilishly. "He needed the confidence boost."

Bryn sighed and smiled with a shake of his head as he released her arm from around his shoulders. "You really are something else, lass."

"Heh, same for you, love…my knight in dark armor."

He turned to face her, hands on her hips. One red eyebrow arched. "Love, eh?"

Lydia just kept smiling and slipped her arms around his neck. "Yeah."

They had eyes only for each other, drawing closer and closer…

"Oi! _Really_?!"

They lurched away from each other, heads snapping to an indignant Karliah, who pointed down the hill they were currently perched on toward the frozen Lake Fjalding.

"There's still a battle going on, you know!"

Brynjolf sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we're coming." He gave Lydia one last smile, a promise held in that look, before he pulled his hood back up and made to retrieve his daggers. "What do you say we give those Draugr a _really_ bad headache?"

As Lydia retrieved the final piece of her weaponry, she grinned from ear to ear. "Lead the way, Bryn."

Together, they sprinted off down the hill, lighter and faster than they'd been all day.

…

Later, Serana couldn't tell when she and Ketar got separated. All she knew was that one second, she was fighting alongside her husband and Bard (since Lord Zhanikan was practically a force of nature and as such given a wide berth), and the next, she was surrounded by cultists and undead, with an occasional Seeker thrown in for seasoning. Given that it was the early morning, and still quite bright out, one might think she was a bit slower than usual. However, between Ketar's Storm Call and Zhanikan's… _whatever_ , the cloud cover was so thick that it might as well have been after dusk.

As such, she was able to transform to vampire lord form and back at will without any pain or discomfort, which she had quite frequently over the course of the battle. The raw strength granted her in that form was used to plunge her barbed wings into the shoulders of a Seeker who decided to pick a fight. Her arms grabbed its wrists after she was disarmed of her sword, and with a great heave, she tore its limbs clean off and proceeded to beat it to death with them. Breathing heavily after the exertion, she transformed back to human form as she felt the blood rage fade away, using the brief moment of respite to retrieve her sword.

A familiar scent at her back prompted Serana to whirl around and bring her sword up defensively. She was very glad she did when she recognized the blade that met hers, teeth baring as she snarled.

"Miraak."

"Serana. I must admit, I'm surprised to see you again, though pleasantly so."

Her furious grimace intensified as she shoved his sword away from her body and lashed out with a vicious side-kick that knocked him further back across the ice. After the initial conflict, Miraak had vanished from everyone's sight, even the dragons, and the battle had devolved into a war of attrition—which they knew they could _not_ win. Thus, at some point in the course of the battle, Ketar had traced the source of creatures to an epicenter around Lake Fjalding and figured that Miraak would most likely be there. As such, they'd slowly fought their way to his presumed location in hopes of spotting him.

And now, here he was, once again crossing blades with Serana.

After the last time, she wasn't exactly… _comfortable_ with the situation, but with a small flicker of magic with her off-hand, she set a plan in motion that had been set up since before the battle began. All she had to do now was last. Immediately after casting the near-imperceptible spell, she drew Sunset's Bite in her off-hand and followed up her wide slash with a stop-thrust that kept Miraak from counterattacking and opened him up to a low swing that almost took his left leg off at the knee. She whirled and spun, the snow on the frozen lake's surface whirling around her as the wind whipped past their dueling forms.

Serana took a low stance, trying to back him into a corner and prevent him from taking the offensive with repeated strikes to his midsection and legs, but once again failed to anticipate his Voice. Just like last time, he used just one Word of fire breath, this one glancing off her side when she lunged away, but still singeing her considerably enough to slow her down. Miraak's follow-up overhead was barely deflected, his next strike a whipping slice to her side that was also stopped just in time. He whirled around with his trademark random spiral, not coming close to her but creating a confusing pattern of motion.

Breathing slowly, Serana bent down and focused on his eyes, or where his eyes would've been if not for the mask. The slightest twitch of his shoulder indicated his decision. Serana was ready. She lunged forward with an overhead block with her sword, sliding over the ice on her shins and flipping the Bite to an underhanded hold. Miraak lunged away from her as his blade skidded against hers, but she managed to score a glancing hit nonetheless, drawing blood from his upper leg and feeling her own wounds rapidly seal shut. So caught up was she in the effects of her new dagger's enchantment that she failed to turn toward her opponent in time to stop him from slashing a thin line across her back.

Serana cried out in pain, a blast of Unrelenting Force laying her out completely and sending her tumbling onto her back. Both her weapons had flown from her hands in the tumble, and Miraak was standing over her with his sword pointed directly at her heart. This time, he wouldn't miss. Her eyes widened in fear for a moment…but only for a moment. In the next, she caught a whiff of a familiar scent on the air, and confirmed her suspicions with a touch of her wedding ring.

And then she just grinned.

Miraak's masked head cocked to one side in confusion even as he drew back the blade for a thrust. The same tension sparked in his shoulder. And for all that, she never stopped smiling.

…

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

An explosive wave of energy slammed into Miraak's side, sending him flying through the air and across the ice. He rolled into a kneel mid-tumble to face his enemy, who was running toward him with Alduin's Bane in his hand and an unmistakable air of fury despite the mask over his features. The moment he was eight feet off, Ketar growled and twirled his entire body counterclockwise, both hands driving the Bane into a downward diagonal strike Miraak dodged and attempted to counter.

He failed miserably when Ketar battered his defenses over and over, his blows coming faster each time he swung, hands alternating from both on the hilt to one on the hilt, one on the blade for extra control at short range. So thorough and fiery was his fury that when, a few moves in, Miraak actually disarmed him with a counter-spin, he grabbed the other Dragonborn's armed wrist and resumed beating him with his bare fists. He landed some pretty solid shots, probably because Miraak was too stunned to respond to the first couple, but when he did and blocked Ketar's next hook, it just pissed him off even more.

With a growl of rage, Ketar used Miraak's blocking arm to pull him into a hard knee to the gut, his unoccupied fist planting in the same spot a moment later. That hand and the one holding Miraak's wrist were used as anchor points to bodily lift him off the ground and hurl him ribs-first against one of the massive ice boulders that dotted the lake. Miraak groaned as he slowly pushed himself upright, looking up at Ketar's masked features and the aura of death that surrounded him when he summoned the Bane back to his hand and stalked toward him. Miraak glared up at him as Ketar's black-clad form towered over him—if not in stature, then in presence.

One thing was for sure: at that particular moment, the First Dragonborn looked very small indeed.

Until, that is, his serpentine mount touched down and whipped Ketar across the chest with his tail, sending him flying back toward Serana, who caught him. Once again, Miraak was carried away in Sahrotaar's talons, this time to the west.

Ketar's eyes narrowed as he pulled his mask and hood back. "Where does he think he's—there's nowhere left to go!" His eyes widened in realization. "Oh gods. The temple."

"What?" asked Serana.

He whirled toward her, his hands on her arms. "I don't have time to explain. Can you manage on your own?"

Serana smirked and flicked his ear. "Are you kidding?" She nodded to the west. "Go."

Ketar smiled and pulled his mask back down, turning to the sky. " _Od-Ah-Viing_!"

Within moments, the red dragon descended and landed just long enough for him to mount up before taking off toward the Temple of Miraak.

" _Thuri_ ," called Odahviing, "is there a reason we are flying away from the battle?"

Ketar's jaw clenched. "Miraak knows he can't win in a fair fight, so he's going to reopen the portal to Apocrypha, bring forth a second wave of Daedra. As it stands, our forces are barely holding back his _first_ wave. He reinforces them…" his head shook slowly, "it'll be a massacre." Ketar's eyes narrowed as they approached the temple from the sky, the enchantment in his mask giving him eagle eyes and allowing him to see a network of ancient ballistae aimed at the sky and manned by Draugr. " _Lot'bormah_ ," he exhaled.

"I see it," said Odahviing. "Approaching from the air will be near-impossible."

Ketar's eyes roved over the temple's structure, catching sight of Sahrotaar dropping Miraak on the roof of the building, where the glow of the Tree Stone it was built around was most prevalent. He scanned the building for any gap in their defenses, finding none, and then a shock of red cloak flashed through his mind's eye—and he got an idea.

"Impossible for you, maybe," Ketar muttered under his breath as the gears in his head started turning.

" _Dovahkiin_?"

"Odahviing…how's your aim?"

"What did you have in mind, _thuri_?"

Ketar's lips twisted in a predatory smile. "Dive-bomb the temple from straight above, aim directly for Miraak, and then, at the last second…throw me."

The dragon's eyes widened dramatically as he looked back at Ketar, as if trying to gauge whether he was serious or not. His features sagged in resignation when he figured out the answer. "If we survive the battle, I will _not_ be explaining this to Lady Serana."

Ketar huffed and patted Odahviing's neck as he leaned in close. "If all goes well…there's a whole _list_ of things we won't be telling Serana. Now go!"

At his command, Odahviing surged forward and upward into the clouds in an attempt to avert detection, approximating the distance to be directly above the target location and out of their firing arc. A familiar snarl was their only warning before they were blindsided from below by Sahrotaar, who slammed talon-first into Odahviing's underbelly, the implement carving a deep gash into the hunter's scales. Odahviing roared and thrashed his tail, landing a glancing blow on the serpent's hindquarters and managing to dislodge him before tackling him with talons of his own around the other dragon's neck.

Sahrotaar whipped said neck and used his rounded head like a bludgeon to bash Odahviing in the hollow of his neck, right beneath his horns, dazing the red dragon. The black serpent followed it up with a wing strike to Odahviing's back, his talon just missing Ketar but the blunt of his wing catching the Dragonborn across the chest. Ketar hurtled from Odahviing's back, his retracted cloak expanding to give him some air control and a magical tether snapping out to anchor to Sahrotaar's rear paw as he attempted to lay the talons of both paws into Odahviing's underbelly.

The sudden addition of Ketar's weight—and his massive downward pull—jolted Sahrotaar enough for Odahviing to get his head free and blast Sahrotaar with fire breath at point-blank. Still, the dragon would not give, prompting Ketar to reel the tether in and use his other arm to combine a second tether with Neloth's plasma magic, same as in Tel Mithryn. The result was a blazing orange whip that carved a deep gash into the webbing of Sahrotaar's left wing and set his flight patterns awry. Odahviing whipped his body around and struck Sahrotaar with his tail—a direct hit to the face—just moments before Ketar's rapidly ascending body released the tethers and bombarded the serpent with lightning as he passed.

A burst of Dragonrend finished the job as Ketar's ascension slowed, sending Sahrotaar careening toward the ground in an impotent rage as the Dragonborn retracted his cloak and reached out to snatch the end of Odahviing's tail. The dragon immediately dove, tucking his wings in with Ketar perched on the back of his tail, the wind whipping past them deafeningly. Down below, Ketar could see Miraak opening Waking Dreams, the sickly green glow of the book intensifying and indicating that the portal was nearing completion. They were running out of time, and both of them knew it.

Which was why Odahviing didn't let up on his speed in the slightest, even as the ballistae targeted their slightly-off approach vector and let loose. The dragon twirled and juked around several incoming missiles, Ketar holding on for dear life and never once taking his eyes off Miraak. He felt something change in the air, the energy around Miraak reaching a fever pitch, and his jaw clenched, voice rising to a scream.

"Do it! _Now_!"

Still accelerating downward, Odahviing folded his wings completely and curled down into himself, effectively forming a ball and using his momentum to twirl his entire body downward. The moment his tail reached the right peak, he snapped it hard, and Ketar let go, the combined force launching him from the dragon's body at blinding speed. His entrance wasn't quite as fast as Zhanikan's—but it was enough.

Ketar's cloak deployed to stabilize his descending arc and zero in on Miraak. The split-second between the spell's completion and the portal's opening, Ketar's arms splayed outward and snapped shut around Miraak's body, tackling him into the portal and forcing whatever he was going to summon back to Apocrypha—along with the two of them. A moment later, the Black Book dropped to the ground of the temple's roof, inactive, and—save for the periodic firing of the remaining ballistae and distant sounds of battle—the air around it fell completely silent.

…

The half-startled, half-enraged cries of the First and Last Dragonborn echoed through the otherwise-still air of Apocrypha as they hurtled through a portal of glowing green energy, their bodies entangled with Ketar's iron grip. The moment they hit the ground, the wind was knocked from both of them, and their feet struggled to find purchase on the stones of the platform they'd landed on. Half-dazed, Miraak took a swing at Ketar and managed to knock his mask up and back enough to cover the eye-slits and blind him for a brief moment.

" _Fus_!"

The single Word threw the unbalanced Ketar on his ass some eight feet off, Miraak rolling upright and leaning against a nearby stone wall to get his bearings. Ketar pushed the mask and hood back completely, sending a fierce glare at the madman standing across the platform as he too got up. Miraak sighed hard as he shook his head, hands on his hips like a scolding parent or elder sibling.

"Oh, my dear Ketar…you just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

Kay stared at him with cold blue eyes. "Could _you_?"

Miraak stared back for a moment before shrugging. "Fair point." He started pacing around the younger Dragonborn. "Though from the comically flabbergasted expression on your face, one might be led to assume that you didn't think this far ahead. What happens now, Dragonborn?"

Ketar's eyes darted about, catching sight of two dragons finding perches on tall stone arches on either end of the platform. It took him a few seconds to realize that this was the same platform where he and Miraak had first come face-to-face.

"Will you still play the hero, I wonder? You seem so determined to save these miserable reptiles, after all."

His jaw clenched. "These 'miserable reptiles' are your _kin_ , not that that sort of thing matters to you."

Miraak snorted derisively. "They are but tools now. Without my guidance, I daresay they would find themselves at a loss for purpose, _especially_ since you slew their leader. And how, I wonder, will they react when they find out that your little 'army' out there is under the very same spell as they are?"

His head cocked. "But they aren't."

Miraak stopped short. "I felt it, when I tried to dominate them. You bent their will, same as me, though how you got the power without Mora's blessing I can't imagine."

Ketar smiled nastily. "Ironically enough, it was _you_. By trying to dominate Serana, you gave me the final piece I needed to match—no, to _surpass_ you. And I have, by using that Shout to inoculate them against your Voice, to commit them to an oath of mission rather than my will, a mission they _chose_. It's a relationship built around mutual respect, not servitude."

Miraak laughed harshly. "So you _are_ still playing the hero! How amusing. Is that it then? Will you speak to my draconic blood, _brother_? Try to talk me down as you did them?" He came to a stop, a sneer evident in his voice. "Or are you to appeal to my humanity?"

He let out a dark laugh. "I'm sorry…at what point did you think that _talking_ was ever an option?" Ketar's features went dead, his eyes cold and filled with a quiet rage. "You tried to kill my _wife_ , Miraak. You kidnapped Serana and drove her to the brink of death," he snarled, "for no other reason than that you _could_." His upper lip twitched with a cross between a snarl and a vindictive smile. "I only gave those dragons a choice because they performed acts of cruelty under someone else's thumb. But you? You just _enjoy_ it."

Ketar's head shook slowly as he let out another dark laugh. "So no, _brother_ , I'm not going to appeal to your humanity; that would imply you still _have_ it. I'm going to _kill you_." His upper lip curled as he reached up to slowly pull his hood up. "It's going to hurt…" the mask unfolded over his features, distorting his voice into a grating growl, "and I'm going to _enjoy_ it."

Without further preamble, Ketar's right hand flared with magic and threw a plasma bolt toward Miraak's head, the other Dragonborn ducking and countering with an electric stream that impacted a ward in Ketar's left hand. The flow of magicka from the lightning to the ward fed Ketar's pool and gave him some breathing room, but when Miraak added a second hand to his casting, his ward's energy rapidly drained and shattered, the resulting inflow bathing Ketar's body in electricity. He growled and forced his way through the pain, feeling a familiar paralyzing sensation coursing through his nerves as he lunged for a crumbling pedestal some six feet away.

The moment he landed behind cover, he could breathe again, and clenched his jaw in determination as he prepared another spell combination. When he snapped out of cover, his eyes widened at the rapidly approaching tip of Miraak's sword, the whip-like blade spearing toward his head and missing just barely when he ducked underneath. A twitch of Miraak's wrist sent the sword slashing down and sideways in a curving arc he rolled away from, the sword slicing into the stone pedestal with an explosion of gray dust. Snarling, Ketar snapped his left hand out and snagged Miraak's armed wrist with a tether, preventing him from properly utilizing his sword.

The ensnared Dragonborn growled and turned his blade sideways, cutting through the magic cable and spinning with a wide swipe that passed just over Ketar's hooded head. The younger Dragonborn fell into an intricate pattern of rolls and flips, made easier by his retracted cloak, to avoid the repeated whips of Miraak's sword. A corkscrew over a wide slash to the midsection was followed by the summoning of a plasma lash, which impacted and wrapped around the shaft of Miraak's blade before he could swing it again. They effectively became embroiled in a vicious tug of war match that lasted until Ketar used his other hand to wrap a normal tether around Miraak's left knee.

With a juke of his hips and a twirl of his body, Ketar corkscrewed backwards, the rapid motion more than tripling the force behind the two cables he held and yanking Miraak straight through the air. He landed hard, but rolled with it, windmilling his legs and whipping the blade of his sword at Ketar's feet. Ketar twist-flipped over the attack, his foreleg coming down to pin Miraak's weapon by its guard. In the same landing motion, he hooked Miraak in the head repeatedly. On the third swing, Miraak's left hand snapped up and caught his fist, stopping it dead in its tracks.

Ketar's eyes widened behind his mask just a moment before Miraak took a breath.

" _Ven-Gaar-Nos_!"

Ketar found the air rushed from his lungs as he was launched twenty feet into the air by a veritable cyclone. His cloak expanded to keep him from being slammed into the stones, and he alit lightly once he reoriented himself, glaring daggers at Miraak, who had finally regained his footing. Slowly, Alduin's Bane left its sheath with an ominous grind, Ketar twirling it loose and rushing forth while spinning the blade behind his back for added power. Their otherworldly weapons met in a mighty crash while Miraak's dragons looked on and silently passed judgment on their lord.

…

The moment after the Temple of Miraak flared with green light, Serana braced herself for the fight of her life. When the battle just progressed as it had seconds earlier, a grin split her face, and she fought with renewed vigor. At some point during the melee, Serana had found herself being joined by Brynjolf and Lydia, who were minding her back against the hordes of undead charging them from all sides while she handled the tougher enemies that concentrated on their front. After the explosion of light, she'd checked the locator spell on her wedding band only to find that there was no response from the other ring.

Ordinarily, that would be very much cause for concern, but considering Miraak had just been opening a portal, it stood to reason that Ketar—subtle as he tended to be—had tackled him through it. Which had raised a whole new series of questions when, unlike with the battle in Eastmarch, the dominated cultists hadn't dropped unconscious. After all, if a mile or two of distance was enough to break his hold, why not the bounds of an alternate dimension? One look at the persistent glow coming from the All-Maker Stone closest to Lake Fjalding gave her the answer: the Stones, as had always been his intention, were bolstering his powers to incomparable levels.

Between the way Vingalmo had used the Bloodstone Chalice to control the denizens of Whiterun and what was happening right now, Serana would be lying if she didn't admit to a particular leeriness for ever using her compulsion again. Although, since meeting Ketar, the only times she'd ever used that particular ability were when the subjects were already controlled, or to prevent them from being dominated, much like Ketar with the dragons. Speaking of which, the lizards were tearing through the enemy like a razor through tissue paper, except when it came to the Daedra and fighting their own kind.

A great part of the latter issue was probably the fact that they, like Ketar, wanted to free, not kill their enslaved brothers and sisters. Thus, they had restrictions, whereas their opponents did not; it was the same issue the mortals were having with the cultists. One thing was for sure: if Ketar didn't put an end to Miraak, and soon, they were going to be in very, very big trouble. When Brynjolf was hurled twenty feet through the air by an electrical explosion, she realized trouble had already found them in the form of a black-masked and armored Dragon Priest. In addition, that same Priest had Sahrotaar at his back, the serpentine dragon flying overhead and coming in for a strafing pass.

He was waylaid when Odahviing came out of nowhere to blast him with fire, the other dragon retaliating with a Shout that drained his vitality and weakened him to the point where he couldn't prevent Sahrotaar's jaws from clamping down on the base of his left wing. Odahviing bellowed in agony as he was dragged toward the ground, Serana snarling and baring her fangs as Lydia helped Brynjolf to his feet.

She exchanged a look with the couple, motioning toward the Priest with her empty hand. "Can you guys handle this?"

Lydia's green eyes narrowed dangerously at the undead mage as she brandished her weapons. "Oh yeah."

"Then I have a friend to help out."

Within moments, Serana had transformed and taken to the sky, erupting into a cloud of bats to decrease the air resistance on her body and move even faster. As a result, mere seconds passed before she was perched on Odahviing's shoulder and hacking at Sahrotaar's head with her claws. The black-scaled dragon growled and released Odahviing moments later, permitting the injured dragon to level himself out, even if every flap of his wings made him grimace.

Serana frowned as she relocated to his neck and laid a hand on his head. "How bad is it?"

Odahviing hissed and kept one glaring eye on Sahrotaar as they circled each other. "I can still fight."

"Not alone you can't. Not against him."

"Lady Serana—"

"Oh no, I am _not_ arguing this with you. Sahrotaar is Miraak's right hand. I'm Ketar's. This is as much my fight as yours, and you're injured."

Odahviing took a breath to argue things further, but found himself cut off when Sahrotaar unleashed an extended burst of frost breath, forcing him to counter with fire. The intense clash of their respective elements created a sunspot in the center that forced Serana to squint just to see properly. When she did, she could tell very clearly that Odahviing was fighting a losing battle. Whether it was his injuries or already-present exertion, his Voice had deteriorated to the point where he could only match maybe two-thirds of Sahrotaar's power. It was this realization that prompted her to shift back to human form and pull her perfect gem from her belt.

The moment Odahviing ran out of breath and Sahrotaar's ice storm surged toward them, she put up a wide shield over both of them that blocked the worst of it. With her other hand, she prepared a plasma bolt and let it off when the dragon's breath dissipated. With the steam from the frost obscuring his vision somewhat, Sahrotaar couldn't see the bolt coming, and was struck above his left eye as a result. He let off an enraged shout, a Shout of Unrelenting Force flying toward them a moment later. Odahviing flapped hard, growling in pain, and ascended over the incoming magic, giving Serana a vantage point to let off a torrent of spells.

Apparently not liking his chances at range, Sahrotaar twirled around her next salvo, then arced toward them, his tail swinging at Odahviing's underbelly, its serrated edge carving a deep gash through his scales. The red-winged dragon cried out in pain, his flight pattern failing as he desperately tried to hold on.

"Odahviing!" Serana screamed.

Her fangs bared as the heat in her blood rose to a fever pitch, her body encased in a dark cloak that stood out against the faint sunlight bearing down on them even as Sahrotaar came about, aiming to clamp his jaws around Odahviing's neck. The ailing dragon could hardly maneuver, but it didn't matter when Serana's transformed body leapt from his back and grabbed Sahrotaar's lower jaw, yanking downward hard and nearly dislocating it with the rage-driven motion. Her claws dug into the supple scales of his neck as she forced him into a rough descent, her free hand firing a series of plasma bolts at his left wing and managing to perforate it substantially.

The dragon's head thrashed about violently, trying to shake her off and succeeding only for her to slash her claws through his other wing on her way back. In retaliation, Sahrotaar swung his tail toward her and managed to score a direct hit, though she used her crossed arms to mitigate the damage. As a result, all three winged combatants touched down on the ground moments later in various states of injury. Serana transformed down and drew her ebony sword as she sidled up next to Odahviing, who looked in pain but raring for a fight. Similarly, Sahrotaar sent them both a glare that was riddled with fearsome bloodlust, his talons screeching as they scraped across the rocky ground of the Moesring Mountains.

Serana exhaled a long breath while she fixed her stance, praying to Akatosh, to anyone who was listening, that the people in her life would survive this horror.

…

As it turned out, Brynjolf and Lydia were not the only ones facing Dragon Priest trouble. Not by a longshot. After spending the next-to-last bolt he had, Agmaer unclipped his empty quivers and let them fall into the snow, letting out a long breath. He strode up alongside Brelyna, who was nursing a bloody gash on her forehead while Delphine and Esbern covered their flank. He scanned their forested surroundings for threats, spotting something with his left eye a moment before hurling his girlfriend to the ground just in time to save her from an ice spike that would've skewered her neck.

It buried itself in a nearby tree instead, and Agmaer used its shape and trajectory to track it back to its source, a silver-armored Dragon Priest with frost dancing around his right hand. Agmaer clenched his teeth as he glanced back at their Blades mentors, who were busy holding off a trio of Seekers. A long breath left his throat as he drew his axe and dropped his left hand to his hip, his fingers slowly curling around the hilt of his wakizashi. Brelyna likewise drew her katana and twirled it into a two-handed grip at her shoulder. He held out his axe sideways, between her and the Priest.

"No," he said. "I'll take him up close, but I won't get halfway there if you don't keep him busy at range."

Frowning, Brelyna sheathed her sword and prepared her spells, summoning a Fire Atronach as the Priest let off another attack. Agmaer's eyes widened when a maelstrom of ice and pure cold stormed toward them, the pair diving in opposite directions to avoid it. His eyes widened when he saw the spell's full effects: causing massive icicles to form in the trees and ground it touched, the former splitting more and more the further the ice expanded. And that was with one hand. The other was occupied with the violet glow he'd long come to associate with Conjuration magic, and erupted with brighter light a moment later.

Agmaer's right eye slipped shut for a moment as he peered through the snow-dusted air with his left, catching sight of four auras. The first two were small, hand-sized, and indicated the spells the Priest was preparing. The next was larger, and situated between those two, probably the creature's mask and armor. The final aura was in the space next to the Priest, and was the biggest of all, though it only lasted a moment before vanishing. When he opened his mundane eye, Agmaer's eyes widened in alarm upon seeing that the result was a summoned Seeker. The creature's gruesome features parted as its mouth opened and it exhaled a burst of foul magic in their direction.

Agmaer rolled sideways, the incoming curse causing the frayed trees to splinter and begin falling. He rushed forth, both to dodge the falling trees and close the distance with the enemy, drawing his wakizashi underhandedly the moment he entered the clearing beyond. Despite the weight of his armor, the young Nord wasn't at all encumbered when he juked around both their incoming spells, being more than used to it after months of training. From the side came a torrent of firebolts and fireballs from Brelyna and her Daedric familiar, the latter focusing on the Seeker while its master harassed the Priest.

Given that his focus of magic was frost-based, it seemed that her fire attacks were quite effective in forcing the Priest on the defensive. Which was perfect, because it gave Agmaer just the right window to charge in, axe swinging. His first blow nearly cleaved the undead's left hand off, his follow-up strike with the shortsword tearing through the undead's cloak as he withdrew.

The Priest cast a glare at Agmaer as he withdrew, his raspy voice growling from behind that silvery mask. "Dukaan, _mid'aar do_ Miraak, _dur hi wah unslaad vulom_."

Agmaer smiled nastily as he switched his wakizashi to an overhanded grip and twirled his axe. "Uh huh. Sure, buddy. Whatever you say."

The Priest, Dukaan, if he was getting it right, laughed coarsely and cast a spell with his left hand, summoning an ethereal sword while his right cast a cloak of frost over his body. Agmaer gritted his teeth as his left eye picked up the intensity of the spell. That cloak was going to make his life a nightmare if he wanted to fight this thing at close range, but if he stayed at a distance, Dukaan would harass him with frost spells. He could only hope that his Nordic blood would give him enough resistance to stay on his feet when he inevitably got hit.

…

Kodlak and Skjor had been separated from the bulk of the Companions when a dragon swept across their ranks with a blast of fire breath that prompted Vilkas to tackle his brother out of the way. Unfortunately, that meant he took the brunt of the attack, and with his lack of magical talent, the burns were…substantial. At present, Valerica was taking care of the scorched Companion while Kodlak and his partner charged toward the peak of a nearby hill in an attempt to get a bird's-eye view of the enemy ranks and prioritize their next target. Halfway there, a stream of fire cut across their path and dragged across the snowy ground, creating a persistent wall of flames that stopped them in their tracks.

They tried to run around it, but the gaps were quickly filled until the two Companions were completely hemmed in within a circle of fire. Over one end of that circle floated a red-armored Dragon Priest with flames dancing between his intertwined fingers. Kodlak's jaw clenched as he exchanged a look with Skjor, the other Nord nodding and splitting with him as they moved to attack the Priest in a pincer motion. The undead cackled dryly, a hacking laugh that set the Harbinger's teeth on edge. Skjor let loose a cry of rage as his Skyforge steel sword glinted with the reflection of sunlight, the weapon held high and swinging as he closed the distance.

The Priest twirled between the crossing Nords, his hands extended to either side and sending arcs of fire in all directions in a spiral pattern. Skjor rolled under the flames, Kodlak ducking mid-step and arcing his movements back toward the undead mage. The Priest dodged his hammer swings and attempted to counter, but found himself unable when Skjor roared, this time quite ferally, as he'd transformed into werewolf form and tackled his enemy. His claws tore into the undead's armored body, the Companion shrieking when his brown fur was lit ablaze and he was sent stumbling away.

"Skjor!" Kodlak cried, charging forth to give him some breathing room but feeling himself hurled sideways when an explosive fireball erupted next to him.

The Harbinger leaned on his hammer as he used it to push himself upright, managing to get halfway there before being forced to roll away from an incoming stream of flame. He kept rolling as the Priest's spell followed his movements, his other hand used to send another fire-stream into Kodlak's path of motion, effectively trapping him. Seeing as how the flames coned outward the further they got from their source, Kodlak decided to charge between the two arcs and fall into a slide that allowed him to score a direct hit on the Priest's chestplate. The blow sent the floating undead flying back into the snow, his body prone to the follow-up strike, a leaping overhead blow that would've smashed his head in.

Instead, the Priest dashed backward, flying just out of the warhammer's reach and giving himself the perfect angle to attack the vulnerable Kodlak. At the last possible second, Skjor's claws tore into the undead's rib cage, his augmented strength allowing him to body-slam the Priest into the snow. He never got the chance to lay into him further, as a growl proceeded from the Priest's throat just a split-second before a lance of fire-orange energy pierced Skjor's lower chest. A howl was torn from his throat as he clutched at the three-inch-wide hole in his torso, his body slowly transforming back to human form as Kodlak rushed to his side.

"Skjor! Skjor, come on! Stay with me, battle-brother!"

The Nord gasped and sputtered for air, blood flecking his lips and teeth as he coughed more and more of it up. Kodlak's hammer was abandoned to the snow as he gripped Skjor's trembling hand tightly, keeping fierce eye contact with his ailing brother-in-arms.

"Harbinger!" cried a female voice in the distance, Aela, if he heard right. "We're coming!"

Despite that assurance, she and the others still had to contend with the persistent ring of flames, and the Priest had already recovered and was preparing to roast both of them alive. A pair of steel arrows streaked toward the floating undead, one managing to graze the side of his mask and prompt him to turn his attention to the huntress. Grateful for the cover, Kodlak hoisted Skjor onto his shoulders and grunted as he made his way to the very edge of the ring, considering how to best get his friend over the magical barrier.

"L-Leave me."

Kodlak scowled at Skjor. "How dare you? You know me better than that. Even if we disagree on the wolf blood, I will never abandon a comrade, so stop embarrassing yourself."

With another grunt and a heave, Kodlak attempted to hurl Skjor over the flames, but cried out when a searing pain lanced across his back and he dropped him in the snow instead. Kodlak whirled around to see the Priest firing periodic balls of flame at Aela with one hand while the other was poised to incinerate the two of them. Seeing Skjor's fallen sword nearby, he lunged for the weapon and slid through the snow, feeling a wave of heat pass over his head as his fingers wrapped around the leather hilt. The old man lunged to his feet a split-second later, his aging body given renewed strength the more his blood heated. And right now, his blood was boiling.

Skjor's sword swung repeatedly, the shorter blade impeding his fighting style somewhat but putting the Priest on the defensive all the same. After twirling around a lightning-fast lunge, the mage sent a ball of fire at Kodlak, the Harbinger snarling and orienting the sword so that the spell impacted the wide flat of the blade, then using that same motion to spin into a strike at the accursed thing's head. He found himself laid out into the snow when the weapon impacted a rock-hard magical barrier that had formed around the Priest's body, the rebound force sending him sprawling onto his back.

Kodlak's eyes widened as the Priest prepared another fire spell in his hands, the energy charging to a fever pitch and releasing—over Kodlak's head. The Harbinger stared at him in confusion until he realized—Skjor was in that direction. His head snapped around, his body following suit as he cried out desperately and sprinted to Skjor's side. The armored man was scorched nearly to a crisp, and his chest wasn't rising or falling. Kodlak felt his feet leave the ground when he juked to his left to avoid a spell and found himself laid out by another fiery explosion.

Coughing hard, the Harbinger clawed his way to Skjor's side, the embers and smoke obscuring his vision until he was right on top of his fallen friend. Kodlak's eyes pricked with tears of grief and rage as he dropped the sword and cradled Skjor's half-burnt head in his hands. His eyes were open, the milky white one scorched beyond recognition. Both were unseeing now. Kodlak's head bent over as he uttered a silent prayer to Talos and Shor, his tear-filled eyes casting a fierce glare on the chuckling Dragon Priest floating some distance off.

"You will suffer for this," he growled, feeling the heat of his wolf blood agree with him for once as he rose to his feet with shaking hands.

" _Joor mey_ ," rasped the Priest. "You think you will be the one to vanquish Ahzidal?" Another coarse laugh. "How will you fight me, when you're so busy fighting _him_?"

Kodlak's eyes narrowed in confusion until he heard the crunch of snow behind him and whirled around to see Skjor rising to his feet. His heart leapt with joy until he caught sight of the other man's eyes—and the unnatural violet glow they now bore. "You monster…you couldn't even let him rest in peace?"

Skjor's clenched right hand now held his Skyforged blade, leaving Kodlak unarmed and under threat from two directions. His jaw clenched, eyes flickering to the side to see his hammer lying in the snow fifteen feet away. Too far. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the dragon that had attacked Vilkas was descending from the clouds and roaring violently—in pain, as he noticed a second later. The reason became apparent when he saw the cloaked figure on its back, digging a dagger into its neck. Kodlak hurled himself sideways when Skjor and the Priest attacked in tandem, the mage's fire spell striking his revenant at the same time the Nord swung through the space just occupied by the Harbinger's neck.

Ahzidal apparently hadn't seen what Kodlak had, because he never saw the dragon coming, or its trajectory. As a result, he quickly found himself pinned under the wyrm's scaled body and being dragged through the snow as it slid to a stop on the far side of the ring of fire. Kodlak gaped at the sight, a soft crunch of snow on his right prompting him to whirl around and see Valerica striding toward him with a stern look. She stopped right in front of him, hands on her hips.

The ancient vampire's head shook slowly. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens."

Kodlak arched an eyebrow at her attempt at humor before his face fell at the sight of the advancing Skjor, an unnatural moan coming from his throat. "Gods above…"

Valerica turned toward the source of the voice, her features pinching in pain when she recognized him. "Damn…I'm sorry."

Kodlak gulped and bent down to retrieve his hammer. "Not your fault. You want to make this right?" He nodded toward Ahzidal, who was clawing his way from beneath the crippled dragon. "Make sure that fiend never takes another life." He hefted the warhammer into a ready position. "I'll put Skjor to rest."

Valerica's fangs bared as she sheathed her dagger and prepared her spells. "Consider it done."

Back-to-back, they faced down friend and foe alike with a strange sense of security, vampire and werewolf united against an ancient evil reborn.

…

"He's annoying."

Lydia snorted as she dove between Brynjolf and an incoming lightning strike, Spellbreaker's ward taking the brunt of it. "Tell me about it."

Their opponent, Zahkriisos, was a lightning mage of the highest order and a necromancer to boot. The pair had been forced to alternate between deflecting his spell attacks and dealing with the various corpses he kept raising periodically. They weren't particularly powerful, but still annoying in that they increased the chances of one of Zahkriisos' attacks getting through Lydia's defenses. And the fact that they were fighting on the ice of Lake Fjalding wasn't an additional hindrance, no, not at all. Every time Lydia felt her teeth rattle with the impact of another uber-powerful spell on her shield and skidded back across the ice was great, just _peachy_.

Thus far, they hadn't been able to score a single substantial hit on the bastard, mainly because his attacks, even when stopped, were so powerful, they forced the couple to remain at a distance. Add to that the fact that they had no ranged power in themselves, and this was turning into a war of attrition that they were quickly losing. Mid-attack, Lydia grabbed Brynjolf by the collar and hauled him behind an icy boulder that gave them some cover for the moment.

"This isn't working, Bryn. We need to find some way of getting close to him, or we're not gonna last much longer."

She couldn't tell his expression behind the Nightingale mask, but he was frowning by his tone. "Agreed. Shame I can't summon the Shadowcloak. That would come in _real_ handy right now."

Lydia sighed hard and peeked around the corner, jolting backward when an arc of electricity struck the space next to her head. "Wait…your ability…the one you do have, that has some range to it, right?"

Brynjolf blinked. "Aye, but the full effect requires me to have taken damage already."

She grinned.

"Oh, lass…I do _not_ like that look."

"Trust me, this is gonna be _awesome_."

Moments later, Brynjolf stumbled out from behind the boulder sporting a brand new bruise on his face and a set of cracked ribs. Just enough damage had been done to increase the effect of his siphon, but not enough to slow him down to any considerable degree. All they had to do now was get him close enough for the spell to take effect. To this end, Lydia charged forth shield-first, Spellbreaker's ward glowing as Brynjolf ran in her wake, both daggers glinting in the sunlight. Zahkriisos' hands sparked with electricity as they curled in wide arcs, the pair closing the distance until a sustained blast of lightning struck Spellbreaker and stopped them in their tracks.

The sheer force behind the lightning storm sent her skidding back until she felt Brynjolf's arms go around her midsection, his weight managing to anchor her somewhat. A surge of magicka increased the power of the Priest's spell, and they were steadily pushed back once more, despite all attempts to keep pressing forward. Moreover, Lydia's shield was starting to vibrate uncontrollably, which made her eyes widen in alarm. Apparently, this Priest was outputting so much energy, even the shield's enchantment couldn't keep up with it. She grit her teeth against the magical onslaught and fell to one knee, plunging Chillrend into the ice and anchoring them solidly.

"That's it!" Bryn shouted over the din of the lightning. "Just stay low and I'll use my daggers as anchors with every step!"

Lydia nodded and used her sword to pull them forward a bit, Bryn's daggers replacing it when she yanked the weapon loose. Step by step they repeated this method, gaining ground on Zahkriisos, who by the ailing strength of his spell was losing steam. The moment they were within striking distance, Lydia surged to her feet with a furious battle cry, Chillrend swinging at his head hard and scoring a deep gash in the side of his mask. However, the metal was harder than she anticipated, and her sword got stuck halfway in, to the point where she couldn't yank it loose.

Brynjolf surged forth from around her shield, daggers at the ready and primed to finish him off only for him to be knocked off his feet by a burst of electricity to the chest. Lydia's eyes widened in alarm when a follow-up spell shattered the ice under his feet and sent him plunging into the frigid waters of Lake Fjalding.

"Brynjolf!" she shrieked, dropping her sword and shield and diving into the hole without hesitation.

Between the electric strike and the sudden shock of cold, she couldn't even begin to think about how disoriented Brynjolf was. When she reached his body and pulled his hood back, his condition was revealed to be far worse than she'd predicted. He was half-unconscious and completely limp, to the point where she doubted he was even present enough to hold his breath. Thinking quickly, she grabbed him by the neck and pinched his nose closed while she covered his lips with hers, exhaling half her lungs into his. His eyes widened a moment later in alert, their gazes meeting through the water before flickering to the hole they'd come in from.

Zahkriisos no doubt had his eye on that hole, and with his electric affinity, one good shock would be enough to fry them both if he caught sight of them trying to claw themselves loose. They looked at each other, both increasingly aware that they were running out of air, and she saw Brynjolf's lips turn in a confident smirk as he held up the one dagger he'd managed to hold onto. Lydia grinned, and together they swam underneath the dark shape that was just visible through the ice.

Mere seconds later, Lydia's armored gauntlet shot out through the perforated ice and grabbed one of Zahkriisos' legs, yanking the appendage down into the water. The fact that he was now partially immersed prevented him from casting his spell long enough for Brynjolf to lunge from the hole and bury his dagger in the Priest's chest. However, with the considerable trembling brought about by the cold, he missed Zahkriisos' heart, giving the Priest the chance to cast the same concussive spell he'd used to crack the ice into Brynjolf's chest, sending him flying backward.

In the same vein, Zahkriisos lunged straight upward and yanked Lydia's head into the ice, dazing her. He whirled around and prepared to cast a lightning bolt into the water, only to wince and miss when Brynjolf threw his dagger into his shoulder. Lydia clawed her way out of the water, coughing violently, and heaved for breath as her lover rushed to haul her upright. Zahkriisos yanked the ebony dagger from his shoulder and whirled on them, both hands flaring with electricity as he growled. Spellbreaker was sitting by his feet, and with their soaked bodies, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Lydia's hand clasped Brynjolf's in a death grip as they faced down death together.

The instant before Zahkriisos unleashed his lightning storm, all three of them recoiled as they were inexplicably blinded. The sunspot in their peripheral vision grew closer by the second, until it was sitting between them and the Dragon Priest. One hand in front of her face, Lydia gazed into the blinding light as it slowly dimmed to a degree that no longer hurt her eyes. When that happened, she couldn't help but stare, wide-eyed and gaping, at the figure standing before them—tall, lithe, and shining like the sun.

Arrayed from head to toe in an all-too-familiar set of silvery mithril armor.

Zahkriisos, for his part, took this interloper's interference as a personal affront. " _We_ _dreh hi mindoor hi kos_?!

The figure brought his gloved hands together, palm to fist, as he faced off with the undead Priest. "I am Gelebor of High Rock, Knight-Paladin of Auri-El and friend of the Last Dragonborn. In the name of all that is good and holy, you _will not pass_."

"Who are _you_ to deny me?!" demanded Zahkriisos, who prepared to unleash his lightning storm on Gelebor instead.

Gelebor's hands flared with light, both palms facing outward as his hands thrust toward the Priest. Zahkriisos roared in pain when he was hurled backward by a bolt of pure sunlight that left his body smoking. Seeing that the enemy was still recovering, the paladin turned to the slowly rising couple and approached them with glowing hands. Moments later, the frigid water evaporated from their bodies as they felt themselves bathed in the heat and light of a summer day.

"Gods' breath," Brynjolf exhaled, "what was _that_?"

Lydia's jaw was still on the floor. "It's you, isn't it? You're the one who gave Ketar that armor."

He pulled down the mail mask over his features, revealing pasty white skin and pointed ears sitting beneath the same winged crown Ketar had worn during his battle with Alduin. "I am, though he returned it not long after. I apologize for my tardiness. You would not believe how difficult it is to get across Skyrim dressed like this."

"Across Skyrim? What about the ocean between there and here?"

He smirked and turned back toward the Priest. "Later. For now, let us dispense of this corrupted fool."

Lydia and Brynjolf retrieved their weapons and sidled up on either side of him, the latter pulling his hood up.

"Aye," he said, "you'll hear no argument from me, lad."

…

The runes of Alduin's Bane hadn't stopped glowing since Ketar had drawn it, and he couldn't help but wonder why. The same thing had happened when he'd gone up against Alduin, so maybe it was just something that took place whenever he confronted a once-chosen instrument of Akatosh. Or maybe it just reacted to the extreme danger he was in, because less than five minutes in, and Ketar found his heart racing with no small amount of fear. Coward Miraak may have been, but like Alduin, that in no way detracted from his power. At the moment, he was fighting alone, but with those two dragons perched on either end of the platform, that could change at any time.

A flash of dark green metal reminded Ketar he had no time to consider such things, his body twisting around Miraak's lunging sword and ducking when the other Dragonborn used its extended position to slash at his neck. The whip-like blade sliced through the air just above his head while Ketar kept running toward its owner, Alduin's Bane couched against his side like a lance. Miraak's left hand flared with sickly green energy, and it was only when Ketar got a few steps closer that he realized it wasn't his hand, but the staff he was holding. When he saw the effect of the staff heading straight for him, it was all he could do to grind to a halt and lunge sideways.

The grotesque stream of filth speared past him, its point of impact erupting in gray-green tentacles that sprouted from the ground. Miraak kept the stream following him until he dove behind cover, breathing heavily.

"That's disgusting!" he called over the stone wall, eyes widening when he heard Miraak take a breath.

" _Fus—_ "

Ketar leapt away from the wall in a dive-roll.

 _"—Ro-Dah_!"

The stone wall exploded into a thousand pieces with the force of Miraak's Shout, Ketar running sideways and sheathing his sword as Zephyr sprang to life. He dashed and twisted around Miraak's blade, the green metal gouging holes into the stone floor on every downward swipe while Ketar drew three arrows from his quiver, two tucked under his pinky while the third was drawn back. The first arrow flew just past Miraak's ear and impaled the wall behind him, the second going up and firing quickly on the heels of the first. Miraak was forced to Whirlwind Sprint behind nearby cover, his sword slashing blindly over the lip of the debris and nearly scoring a shallow cut on Ketar's chest.

He handsprung backward, the last arrow drawn back and released as soon as his feet touched the ground. This one, unlike the last two, was enchanted—and made of dragonbone at that. He'd used the same technique as Agmaer's ultra-missile to design this one, and fired the first two knowing they'd miss to establish a low expectation on Miraak's part. Thus, when he launched his ultra-missile at Miraak's cover, not only was the debris and everything in a five-meter radius completely annihilated, but Miraak was flung into the far wall like a ragdoll and impacted with a sickening crack.

Honestly, Ketar hadn't expected much to be left in the wake of the explosion (which he could feel all the way across the platform), but as it stood, most of Miraak's limbs were twisted at odd angles, his armor and robes were torn half to shreds, and the upper-left corner of his mask had been blown off. A closer look revealed deathly pale skin and a viciously-glaring eye of the same dark green as the eye in the hilt of his sword.

"This—isn't—over," he hissed, his one good arm slowly dragging his body away from the book wall he'd hit.

His gaze turned toward the sky, toward one of his dragons, and Ketar tensed up and drew an arrow to prepare for attack. He froze when Miraak lifted his voice instead, and said something that sent a chill down his spine.

"Kruziikrel, _Ziil-Los-Dii-Du_!"

Ketar's jaw dropped behind his mask as the dragon he'd Spoken to hissed out one last breath, then began decomposing, giving up its soul as its power flowed into Miraak's body. The First Dragonborn grunted and cried out as his twisted limbs righted themselves, his wounds sealed shut, and with staggered movements, he clambered back to his feet, breathing heavily. Ketar could only stare at him in blank horror, his mind processing Miraak's Words.

Ziil-Los-Dii-Du _"—spirit is mine to devour…he just…_

And then there was only rage.

"You," Ketar growled, his empty hand clenching into a fist. "You worthless piece of shit." He drew back his arrow and aimed it at Miraak. "You don't even have the balls to grant them an honorable death!"

Ketar fired the arrow, Miraak swiping it out of the air with his sword and causing the ebony missile to spin upward before clattering to the ground.

"He gave his life to serve his master," Miraak replied. "There could be no greater honor."

And now, Ketar suddenly understood why the dragons were there. And he would not stand for it. "Never again, Miraak. You will not steal another, not _one more_!" Ketar whirled toward the second dragon, only slight conflict within him as he raised his Voice. " _Gol-Hah-Dov_!"

Miraak reeled and cried out as he no doubt felt his connection to the dragon severed, one hand on his head.

"Get out of here!" Ketar yelled. "Go far away and do not return until I call for you!"

The dragon, a green-scaled Blood-type species, bowed its head and answered, "At your command, _thuri_." Then he flapped his wings and quickly retreated into the distance.

From behind his half-destroyed mask, Miraak glared at Ketar, whose knuckles were starting to whiten under his gloves. "That was a mistake. You should have had him fight alongside you."

Ketar snarled. "So you could yank his soul out too? Yeah, I don't think so, bastard."

"What's to say the distance will stop me anyhow?" Miraak shrugged his arms out to the side as they paced around each other. "After all, I was across dimensions when I stole a soul from you."

"After I'd already killed the dragon. And you've never stolen another since."

The seething rage was evident in Miraak's reply. "You are an arrogant, naïve, foolish boy."

"And you're a gods-damned _coward_. How many more will you hide behind before you decide to stand up for yourself? I honestly don't even _care_ that you want to rule the world. Truth is, if you'd rallied an army like this the old-fashioned way, I might actually _respect_ you." He nocked two arrows and drew them back together. "But this? This is _pathetic_."

He loosed the arrows, Miraak ducking around and slashing through them. Another two went on Ketar's bowstring as he kept talking.

"You're no king, Miraak. You're a puppet-master…and I think it's high time someone cut your strings." He smirked malevolently and drew back his bow. "Now be a good lad and take your ass-whipping like a _man_."

Miraak sprinted forward, his sword held out behind him. " _Wuld-Nah-Kest_!"

Ketar was ready for him, releasing both arrows and lunging just far enough backward to avoid being skewered on Miraak's blade. Zephyr's metal body pinged with the repeated impact of Miraak's sword, Ketar ducking and spinning clockwise to swipe the arms of his bow at Miraak's legs. He leapt over the strike and nailed Ketar in the face with a drop-kick, laying him out briefly before he rolled away from the follow-up. Their weapons locked together when Miraak swung for him in an overhead blow, the grip of the bow locking the Daedric sword in place with Ketar's hands braced against either arm, barely holding it back.

"What's wrong?" Miraak taunted, their masks inches apart. "Just use another one of those arrows. Oh, you're too close, is that it? Then I'll make sure to keep you nice and safe by my side, _brother_. Matter of fact, let's hug this out."

Ketar's teeth clenched. "Go to hell."

The truth was, he had only managed to make one. The ultra-missile formula, though powerful, required so much preparation, effort, and material that it took over an hour just to process all the enchantments and a filled grand soul gem just to power it. And if he didn't personally find and trap the soul of an _extremely_ powerful creature, getting a hold of such a gem was _really_ expensive. So, he'd forged two ultra-missiles total in preparation for this battle, one for himself, and one to replace the bolt Agmaer used on Sahrotaar. And given that Miraak was even stronger now than before, it seemed that absorbing the soul of Kruziikrel reset his body to the condition it was before the battle even started.

A fact that made Ketar infinitely glad that he'd designed Alduin's Visage with extensive regenerative enchantments. As it stood, Ketar felt only slightly fatigued, something his anger was rapidly making up for as he shoved Miraak away and spun into a clockwise cut aimed for his knees. Miraak dashed away from the attack and countered with a stabbing riposte that sent his blade extending past Ketar's ear. Having had about enough of his hit-and-run tactics, Ketar lunged forward, his left hand summoning a magic tether while his right flipped Alduin's Bane to an underhanded grip and used it as a defensive tool to block Miraak's next strike. The tether snaked around the hilt of Miraak's sword a moment later, Ketar yanking hard and following with an underhanded slash at the Dragonborn's neck.

He rolled under his strike and made a shallow cut to Ketar's side on the way up, pressing the attack with a series of spiraling whip-strikes when Kay's grip on the lash failed. In response, he fell into a pattern of instinct-driven flips, twirls, and corkscrews; the sickly Daedric blade coming close, but never quite managing to score another hit. All the same, that graze on his side—which proved Miraak's blade could pierce Alduin's hide quite easily—was burning like nothing else. It made him want to curl up into a ball and die, and it was a shallow wound at that. He had no idea how Serana had kept fighting with dozens of those cuts strewn across her body.

Admiration for his wife would have to wait, though, because Miraak was pressing his advantage and relentlessly pursuing Ketar across the platform.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

Ketar lunged away from the incoming stream of fire, whirling toward his attacker when the flames followed him and driving his sword into the ground like a flag. The sapphire in its pommel flared with light as it was used to focus a ward that encased his entire front and sent the white-hot gouts of flame dissipating around him. Through the fire, he could just make out Miraak's charging form, and yanked his sword loose to block an incoming overhead strike that sent him reeling a step. A torrent of relentless blows came from every angle, immense physical power behind every impact, so much so that Ketar was actually stumbling away from his opponent.

It took him a few seconds to notice how close he was to the edge of the platform. Another moment or two to realize Miraak's intention. And when he did, he lunged for the corrupted Dragonborn with his sword held high, only to be stopped and repulsed when Miraak raised his Voice.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

An unrelenting wave of concussive energy slammed directly into Ketar's chest, catapulting him backward with force enough to knock the wind out of him—and send Alduin's Bane flying from his grip. Amid the gasps and coughs while he tried to regain his breath, he was distantly aware of the ground suddenly just being _not there_ , and a smug glint in Miraak's visible green eye as the backward force of his Shout petered out.

And Ketar was sent careening down into the fetid, tentacle-strewn gall of Apocrypha's seas.

* * *

AN: I decided that the second part of this arc was WAY too long for one chapter, even for me, and split it up as best I could. So as soon as you guys have sent me your thoughts on this chapter, I'll put the next one up, tomorrow by 8 PM at the latest.

On that note, happy reading.

Drake out.

Musical inspirations:

The Phantoms – Into the Darkness (DA: Inquisition Mix): start-0:20—Zhanikan's tower/suiting up/into the portal, 0:20-0:50—overlooking the battle/shield wall, 0:50-1:20—magical artillery/cavalry charge/heroes arrive/Guardian destroyed, 1:20-1:52—foreign dragon/Bard goes to work/sonic boom, 1:52-2:20—Zhanikan lands/Avatar of Power, 2:20-end—lining up/nod/into the fray

The Shannara Chronicles – Dagda Druid Fight: start-0:30—Serana vs. Miraak/wounded and pinned, 0:30-0:37—familiar scent/Sera's grin, 0:37-0:55—" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"/Ketar vs. Miraak/body slam, 0:55-end—Sahrotaar's landing/Miraak's escape; Furies Descend: start-0:33—"how's your aim?"/dive-bomb plan/"Now go!", 0:33-0:53—Sahrotaar's interference/midair battle/Dragonrend, 0:53-1:04—dive-bomb/dodging ballistae, 1:04-end—"Do it! _Now_!"/Ketar's tackle

 _Dovahzul_ translations:

" _Lot'bormah_ _" – Great father (referring to Akatosh)_

"Dukaan, _mid'aar do_ Miraak, _dur hi wah unslaad vulom_." – Dukaan, loyal servant of Miraak, curses you to eternal darkness.

" _We_ _dreh hi mindoor hi kos_?!" – Who do you think you are?!

P.S.: Some of you have been griping about not being able to access the story without Internet. I can't speak for those of you with Androids, but for iPhone users, the app allows you to download stories for offline reading. The app itself is greatly flawed, but that function works fine. Just FYI. Ciao.j


	21. The Last Dragonborn, Part III

Miraak couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so… _alive_. Honestly, if his monumental pride didn't bar him, he might have thanked the young Dragonborn for pushing him to his limits. For so long, he'd been relying on those around him, those he bent to his will, that he'd almost forgotten the rush, the _thrill_ of battle; and the immense satisfaction that came from bringing an enemy to his knees the old-fashioned way. Perhaps he would survive the fall, perhaps not, but either way, Ketar Dov had been a fool to challenge him so brazenly. Drunk off his success against Alduin, he could see why the boy had done so, but still.

For one who vaunted his intelligence so blatantly, it was a really _stupid_ move.

Almost chuckling to himself, Miraak turned away from the edge and strode back toward the center of the platform, where the Black Book _Waking Dreams_ lay fallen and discarded, his ticket back to Nirn and his final conquest of Tamriel. He'd only taken four steps when suddenly, his instincts flared up, and he sensed something behind him. Slowly, he turned his head to look back and felt his eyes widen without his consent when, as if from the pages of some fairy tale, a cloaked form in all black rose over the edge, suspended midair with absolutely nothing supporting him. The visored mask over his features obscured the no-doubt furious look on his face as his fingers laced together, a near-undetectable tremble of focus in his hands.

Miraak couldn't help but stare. He was…flying. He was _flying_. Well, more like levitating, but still. Even _he_ had never been able to master such magics, though to be fair, after riding his first dragon, he'd never really felt the need to. Regardless of their enmity, Miraak felt his respect for this kid automatically go up a notch, and…something else stir inside at the sight of him: floating midair, fingers laced together, his black cloak billowing all around him as they glared at each other. He felt cold all over, and it made him grip his sword tighter in reflex. There was something else at play here, something that went beyond just the boy sitting in the air in front of him.

Miraak's entire body wanted to shake, to tremble like a dead leaf in the wind. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in many, many ages. Not since…

 _Within seconds, the cascade coalesced into the winged form of a golden dragon, larger and more regal than any the Dragonborn had ever seen. And when he spoke, power laced every single booming word._

 _"You dare make demands of_ me _?! Need I remind you that it was_ your _ego and impulsiveness that put you in this situation to begin with?!"_

And at this realization, Miraak's teeth clenched. _So…it was_ him _you chose? This naïve brat…you stood behind him, gave him_ everything _._ He squared up with the floating figure, hefting his sword into a ready position as his left hand brandished his staff. _Then that is what I'll take from him…show you just how wrong you were to cast me aside. And then…_ then _I will have my vengeance in full._

…

Ketar almost couldn't believe what was happening. The moment he'd been flung off the side of the platform and seen the corrosive grime he was careening towards, his instincts had just taken over. Before he knew it, his cloak had deployed and expanded to its maximum span, and his hands flared with an Alteration spell he'd been trying to perfect for weeks. Ever since first using the vampire cloak, Ketar had been experimenting with ways to enhance its partial levitation enchantment to full antigravity; and in the process ran across an old Dunmer tome dating before the Oblivion Crisis and the Levitation Ban that had outlawed the use of such magics.

Considering he was running two criminal organizations and frequently defied Imperial law, he figured one more offense was hardly going to make a difference in the long run, and as such worked tirelessly to recover the lost art of levitation magic. Not once had he been able to achieve a successful casting, even using the cloak, but now, when he needed it most, his Breton blood had finally whispered the answer. And now, as he stared into Miraak's eyes, he felt another whisper enter his mind. Before he knew it, his lips were moving of their own accord, as if driven by some primal instinct. The power in his dragon blood answered its call, singing together as his Voice formed three words he hadn't Spoken since slaying Alduin.

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

Ketar knew something was different the moment the last Word left his lips. The transformation of his Dragon Aspect with the Armor of Auriel was an improvement, to be sure, the way it melded with its chain and plate. But this…this was like a piece that he'd never known was missing. Gone were the orange and blue ethereal inserts, and no longer did he have the blatant visage of a dragon. The spectral armor that typically adorned his body flared and appeared for barely a moment before it collapsed and melted into the plates and scales of Ketar's armor, as if it were a skintight layer over Alduin's Visage.

Its appearance was revealed only by a slight but detectable shimmer over the armor's surface, like a silvery heat ripple that accentuated the scaly hide of his suit. The webbed tendons on the underside of his cloak were suddenly not the only draconic trait it had, as the cloak itself appeared to be made of ethereal dragon leather, like a pair of wings. The mask and hood of his armor seemed to be encased in a single piece of scaly hide, as if the headpiece were Ketar's actual face, though no features were visible apart from two glowing blue eyes where his visor was. From head to toe, he no longer looked like he was mimicking a bipedal dragon, even now lacking the tail that had existed previously. It was quite the opposite, as if a dragon had deigned to assume mortal form, not unlike Akatosh's humanoid avatar.

The same whispers he'd felt from Alduin's Visage upon completion of its forging sang through his blood like fire as the ethereal armor affixed itself to his body. The moment it solidified completely, Ketar swung his arms backward, and his cloak followed with an explosive flap that propelled him feet-first into Miraak's chest before he had a chance to counter. The sheer impact force alone sent the rogue Dragonborn flying twenty feet back to slide to a stop. As Ketar landed back on the platform in a kneeling crouch, his new wings pooling around him, his arm snapped out to the side and summoned his sword back to his hand. No more speeches or taunts were exchanged as Miraak regained his footing and they faced off.

Only three words were uttered by Miraak before they charged each other like opposing tidal waves.

" _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

…

"Odahviing, watch his tail!"

The red dragon heeded Serana's advice by flapping his wings once to bring his chest out of the range of Sahrotaar's barbed tail. He countered with a blast of fire breath that was absorbed by Sahrotaar's wing like a shield. Serana moved in on his opposite side, trying to blindside him, but found herself forced to backpedal when the serpent sent a stream of flame in her direction. Serana launched herself behind a nearby boulder, her armored boots skidding through the snow and scuffing the edge of the mountain upon which they battled. A sharp exhale came from her throat, sending a stream of steam from her lips as she steeled herself for a lunge back into the fray.

Despite his fury and strength, Serana could see how much Odahviing's wounds were paining him. Given the fact that Sahrotaar had barely been engaged in battle before taking on the two of them, he was fresher and overall stronger than either of them. Moreover, he'd had the last several ages to grow in skill and power, whereas Serana had been asleep and Odahviing had been, well…dead. But with both working together…

 _We might just have a chance._

Gritting her teeth, Serana lunged from behind the boulder, dagger in hand, and leapt twenty feet through the air to land on Sahrotaar's right shoulder. Before she could plunge the blade into his hide, he bucked his body hard and snapped it in in a vertical, whip-like motion, as if his body were a wave. The sudden motion was so violent, she was thrown clear through the air, upside-down, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to a whip of Sahrotaar's tail. She threw her arms up to mitigate the damage, but the impact still jarred her to her bones and caved in her gauntlets almost all the way to her skin. She could feel the bent metal threatening to break through the rich fabric underneath.

Additionally, she was sent flying even further toward the edge of the mountain, over the side, in fact. Serana grit her teeth and focused her magic on enhancing her cloak's levitation to try and redirect her motion, but a flash of red in her peripheral vision caught her attention and prompted her to reach out with her empty hand. Her fingers wrapped around the end of Odahviing's tail as the dragon snarled at his serpentine opponent, clawing at the ground with one of his talons in taunt. He kept his tail low, so that Serana couldn't see Sahrotaar, but after just a moment, she realized that went both ways. Odahviing and Sahrotaar faced each other in a tense standoff for some time, until a strong wind sent a thick cloud of snow flying between them, obstructing their vision.

Serana grinned as she launched herself upward and sprinted across Odahviing's back, the scent of Sahrotaar's seeping wounds like a beacon fire as she leapt from the dragon's head, sword couched against her side in readiness. On her way down, she heard Odahviing's Voice pierce the air in a blast of fire breath that scorched Sahrotaar's wings when he used them to shield his face. It also had the effect of further blinding the black dragon, to the point that when Serana finally fell within range, he was completely open and unaware of her presence. With a baring of her fangs, she drove the basket-hilted sword into Sahrotaar's neck almost to the hilt, the wyrm roaring and thrashing his head about in agony and nearly throwing her clear once again.

Serana's dagger left its sheath when she felt her grip around the sword loosening, the black dragonbone finding a new home next to her sword as she punched it through Sahrotaar's hide like a hot knife through butter. Hooking both blades slightly, she dug them in and viciously twisted them around, keeping Sahrotaar so preoccupied that he never saw Odahviing coming. The red dragon growled and bellowed in rage as he grabbed Sahrotaar with his left talon, that wing draped across his back in a tight grip while his jaws clamped down on the serpent's neck. Odahviing's back flexed as his right wing flapped to give him a bit of upward momentum, the rest of him snapping hard and effectively body-slamming Sahrotaar into the mountain's peak back-first.

Serana coughed repeatedly as she scrambled to her feet, having been thrown clear during the impact, and waved the whirling snow away from her face as she tried to see what was happening. Out of nowhere, a black tail swept and coiled around her body, trapping her arms at her sides and steadily squeezing the life out of her. Further up, Sahrotaar's talons scraped against Odahviing's wing as they battled head-to-head, their features lost in a mess of scales and fangs. Grunting and growling in effort, Serana managed to free one arm, Sunset's Bite clutched in her hand, and struck Sahrotaar's tail repeatedly where she could see a cluster of tendons. The dragon shrieked in agony as the appendage went limp and released her only to come back and strike her across the face.

The impact sent Serana skidding back through the snow, and as she made to sit up, she felt a warm trickle of blood run down her forehead. Swiping it out of her eyes, she launched herself back into the fight, snatching up her fallen sword and readying the Bite for use. She had just entered a small clearing, just enough to see both dragons, when she realized that Sahrotaar had Odahviing pinned. Somehow, he'd managed to get the dragon on his side, in an incredibly vulnerable position, and was currently pressing Odahviing's head into the snow with one of his paws. Moreover, the angle at which Odahviing's neck was at present was _far_ too close to the breaking point.

Sahrotaar spotted Serana before she could interfere and blasted fire in her direction, forcing her to scramble away and leaving Odahviing defenseless. Panic shot through Serana like lightning as she saw Sahrotaar put even more of his weight on the red dragon. Her eyes flickered to Sahrotaar's features just in time to see a strange look in his reptilian eyes, as if he was merely a passenger to a horror he couldn't look away from. Her jaw clenched.

 _I won't let you forsake your honor. I won't let you destroy a brother…even if it means your death._

With a fierce cry, Serana drew her left arm back and snapped it forward hard, hurling her dagger at Sahrotaar's chest and striking him dead-on where his heart should have been. The serpent howled and staggered away, releasing Odahviing's head and stumbling wing-first into an icy boulder. When he didn't immediately fall limp, but snapped his gaze to Serana, she realized the one defect Ketar hadn't thought of when he crafted her new dagger: it was too short to pierce a dragon's heart. Teeth bared, Sahrotaar drew himself up and took a long breath in readiness to cremate Serana.

He never got the chance.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

A massive blast of kinetic energy struck Sahrotaar in his injured neck, sending his abbreviated fire breath into a thick snow bank on Serana's left. The vampire's eyes snapped to the sky as she heard the wingbeats of another dragon, said eyes going doubly-wide when she saw the source. A four-legged dragon with sapphire scales and a saddle descended from the clouds with a fire boiling in his throat and his passenger furiously calling out, "Zhanikan!"

A white-hot stream of flame engulfed Sahrotaar's reeling form as the other dragon beat his wings to bring himself to a hover, his passenger leaping from the saddle and immediately running over to her as she retrieved her fallen weapons.

"Bard," she exhaled half in shock. "So I wasn't seeing things. You…you rode in…on that?" She pointed at the blue dragon.

Bard arched a black, snow-streaked eyebrow. "On _him_ ," he corrected, glancing back at his mount. "Meet Sonaanulspaan, one of my closest friends." He smirked. "I've known him since he was just an egg."

Serana's brows shot skyward. "Wait—he's a _new_ dragon?"

He grinned. "I'll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to get back to the larger battle."

Serana blinked and glanced at a heavily injured Odahviing. "But he—"

"'Spaan and I will take care of your friend. Right now, Ketar's people need you."

Her teeth gritted, and she approached Odahviing with a ginger hand on his neck. He just nodded.

Serana smiled a little. "You're one hell of a fighter, Odahviing. You did great."

With how little he could move without pain, it was all he could do to smile, though his eyes were shining. "Thank you for allowing me a second chance, Lady Serana."

"'Ey, no more of that self-loathing, 'kay? You did the best you could, and if Miraak hadn't cheated, you'd have kicked his ass back to Apocrypha for another ten thousand years."

The dragon chuckled once before hissing and coughing as softly as he could.

Serana laughed for him. "Sorry." She glanced worriedly at Bard. "Try not to make him laugh."

The werewolf smiled and nodded reassuringly. "I'll do my best." Bard put a hand on her shoulder. "Now go."

She nodded sharply and launched herself off the side of the mountain, transforming mid-fall and flapping her wings as she sped back toward Lake Fjalding and the larger battle at hand.

…

"Lyn, drop!"

Agmaer's cry reached his girlfriend just in time for her to hit the snow as a powerful frost spell flew through the space her body had just occupied. It was like another storm of pure cold that sent icicles growing out of anything it touched, a particular piece of magic Agmaer was quickly growing annoyed with, especially since he no longer had any ranged power of his own. Well, except for—

"On your left!" cried Brelyna in warning.

Agmaer whirled around, his weapons at the ready, and underhandedly blocked an incoming blow from an armored Draugr with his wakizashi before burying his axe in its head. A firm kick to the chest dislodged the undead and enabled him to roll away from a pair of incoming ice spikes. He took cover behind a particularly thick tree, popping his head out briefly to take a look at his attacker only to snap back when another spike nearly took out his left eye…again.

"This guy is _really_ starting to annoy!" He looked to Brelyna, who was also taking cover to recover some of her magicka. "Lyn! You've killed one of these things with Ketar—how?"

She frowned and drew her katana in one hand while the other cast an armor spell over her body. "Vampire rules! Remove the head or heart!"

Agmaer's head tilted briefly as he shrugged. "Now that I can do."

He lunged from cover, using an incoming snow drift to mask his approach. His right eye kept him aware of his corporeal surroundings while his left kept him on track to Dukaan, whose aura was flaring with another channeled spell. Agmaer lunged and slid to his left as the aura reached a fever pitch, a six-foot spear made of ice lancing through the air just over his shoulder. Hooking his axe around a passing tree, he used it to reorient himself and regain his footing in time to close the last few feet of distance. His wakizashi's tip dragged through the snow next to him as he ran, and a hard, upward snap of the shortsword sent a small cloud of snow rising to block the Priest's vision once again.

Agmaer's axe followed his sword in the opposite direction, making to cleave Dukaan's head from his shoulders, but stopped mere inches away on the edge of an ethereal sword. The Priest's summoned weapon shunted his back and countered with a slash across the chest that he barely managed to deflect. Two fireballs slammed into Dukaan from behind as Brelyna charged through the trees. The Priest cast an ice spike toward her, the spell shattering against a rapidly constructed magic ward while Agmaer moved back in and swung both his weapons at Dukaan's back. The Priest twirled his sword to guard his back, managing to catch Agmaer's axe and wakizashi, but leaving himself open from the front.

Brelyna cried out in fury as she shifted her katana to a two-handed grip and made to behead Dukaan. The Priest's right hand flared with violet light, a portal erupting between him and the Dark Elf and sending her crashing chest-first into the grotesque body of a Seeker. The Daedra quickly wrapped its sinuous arms around her body, lifting her off the ground and bringing her face-to-face with its mouth opening.

"Lyn!" Agmaer screamed.

"Focus!" Brelyna shouted back, prompting him to whirl around and just manage to stop Dukaan's incoming strike.

Agmaer heard the Seeker take a breath, preparing to exhale that same concussive burst of magic at Brelyna at point-blank range. He turned his head and just managed to catch her bare her teeth in a malevolent grin as she tossed her sword up a bit and caught it underhandedly. She plunged it tip-first down the Seeker's gullet a split-second later, making its spell catch in its throat and the monster release her while it thrashed about, trying to dislodge the weapon. The moment Brelyna's armored boots hit the ground, she used both her hands to channel a powerful fire spell that engulfed the Daedra in an endless stream of white-hot flame.

It was reduced to little more than dust in a matter of seconds, sending Agmaer's eyebrows skyward. He realized his mistake just in time to whirl around and duck under Dukaan's next swipe, his weapons coming up to block an overhead that sent him sliding back through the snow. The Priest's blade ground against his axe and wakizashi as he was steadily pushed back through the snow with just one arm. The other one came up and flared with magic, a sustained frost spell engulfing his body and causing some _extremely_ painful frostbite that ripped a scream from his throat.

His Nord blood was only doing so much to mitigate the damage, and by the rhythm of approaching footsteps behind him, Brelyna knew it. A fearsome battle cry split the air as she leapt for Dukaan, her katana held high in both hands and making for his neck. The masked Priest snapped his head away from the blade, the edge of it just managing to nick him as its wielder dashed past him and came in on his other side. Dukaan ceased his magical assault on Agmaer, instead sending an ice spear at Brelyna and nearly skewering her through the shoulder. She was forced to pull back just to avoid his spells, countering with a few of her own but unable to land a single hit due to the cancellation of their elements.

Seeing Dukaan distracted, Agmaer grit his teeth against the residual pain and forced his numb limbs to move, the force pushing against him giving him an idea. He shifted his weight to one side and suddenly let his arms go lax, Dukaan's summoned blade flying past him when Agmaer's opposing force vanished. The Priest was thrown completely off-balance, finally giving Brelyna the opening she needed to nail him with a fierce explosion of fire. Agmaer followed this with an axe-strike that imbedded the weapon in Dukaan's lower chest. He unsuccessfully tried to wrench it loose, leaving himself open to a backhand that sent him flying back into the snow. Brelyna followed his strike with a barrage of katana-blows that Dukaan deflected with ease and countered with a diagonal swipe at her neck.

Taking a play out of Delphine's book, Brelyna shifted her body so that his ethereal blade skidded off her shoulder plate and punched her sword upward through the Priest's armor, right next to Agmaer's axe. With all the adrenaline running through her system, her aim was off, so she missed his heart, but Dukaan still reeled all the same. Nevertheless, Brelyna had lost her window, and was having a hard time pulling her blade loose. Seeing this, Dukaan took advantage and latched his empty, skeletal hand onto her face, muffling her half-panicked screams when she suddenly found her air cut off.

"Brelyna!"

Agmaer shoved himself upright and twirled his wakizashi into an overhand grip as he made for Dukaan's back, the Priest spinning counterclockwise to strike at him with his sword. Agmaer barely managed to block the incoming blow, the impact sending shocks and vibrations up his arms as he was sent skidding back a bit. Brelyna, for her part, was being shaken around like a ragdoll and repeatedly punched Dukaan's gripping arm in her attempts to struggle. Agmaer grit his teeth and dashed back in with several rapid strikes at various points, the Priest parrying his attacks one-handedly with ease as the boy's assault became more and more desperate.

Thinking quickly, Agmaer locked his shortsword with Dukaan's ethereal sabre and used his spare hand to reach for his axe in an attempt to cleave the Priest's other hand off. He found his left arm perforated when Dukaan shifted his sword to shunt Agmaer's wakizashi to the side while twirling it into a cutting arc that sliced through the underside of the boy's forearm. Agmaer gasped and reeled in pain, the knuckles of his uninjured hand whitening around the grip of his shortsword as his mind raced to think of something else.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

The Shout was so sudden and unexpected, Agmaer only just had time to curl himself into a ball before he was thrown twenty feet into a thick snow bank. Dukaan, on the other hand, was pummeled into the ground, forcing him to release Brelyna, who gasped and coughed violently once she was finally released. It took Agmaer a second to realize none of his bones had been shattered, and he looked up to gape at the source of the Voice: a familiar burgundy-scaled dragon sending a pointedly peeved expression his way.

"I swear, you children are absolutely useless." Dolotlah tossed her head haughtily. "I have to do _everything_ myself."

Dukaan pushed himself off the ground and floated before the dragon, voice laced with rage. "You dare—"

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!" was her only answer.

The Priest stumbled and staggered away, leaning against a half-scorched tree when his strength began to fail and giving the Blades-in-training a few moments to recover.

"Come on," drawled Dolotlah in an almost bored tone, "back on your feet. I didn't come all this way to watch you two lounge around in the middle of a battle."

Brelyna gasped as she hauled herself upright, leaning against Dolotlah's extended wing for support. "T-Thank you."

The dragon sighed hard. "Thank me by wrapping this up quickly. These insolent Priests believe themselves to be, as you mortals would put it, 'hot shit.'" She bared her teeth in a malevolent smile. "Show them otherwise, if you will."

"Absofreakinlutely," growled Agmaer as he returned to Brelyna's side. He glanced at her. "Your sword is still stuck in his chest."

She nodded to him. "So's your axe. But I have a plan."

Dolotlah grunted. "And how's that worked out for you so far?"

Brelyna threw her an irritated look. "I'll have you know that I almost had him more than once—"

"'Almost' doesn't win battles, whelp. If not for me, you'd be—"

"Ladies, ladies," Agmaer interrupted with one eye on a recovering Dukaan, "you're both pretty. Now if you wouldn't mind—" He glanced at both of them, receiving a small, discreet nod from his girlfriend. "Now!"

Dolotlah struck the snowy ground in front of her with her tail, sending a massive cloud of snow up to obscure the Priest's vision while Agmaer grabbed Brelyna's hand and charged toward Dukaan, his magic eye leading the way. Dukaan's aura flared as he sent a torrent of ice spikes at their dragon friend, the magic crystals flying past the two Blades-in-training as they rapidly closed the distance. The Priest immediately shifted his focus when he saw Agmaer charge through the white smokescreen, bombarding him with an endless stream of cold in an attempt to stop him in his tracks.

As a result, Agmaer felt a thick sheet steadily begin forming around his slowing form. He grit his teeth against the pain and fatigue, forcing his body forward until he catapulted shoulder-first into Dukaan's lower chest, arms wrapped around his midsection and holding the floating Priest in place. Dukaan seemed stunned by the maneuver, if his momentary hesitation was any indication, especially since he noticed that Agmaer was lacking his wakizashi. The Priest's gaze flickered back to the thinning smokescreen a split-second before it parted in the center, revealing a charging Brelyna, who held Agmaer's shortsword underhandedly.

He quickly cast an ice spike at her, but the Dunmer girl twisted away from the spell and charged straight for Agmaer's bent form. Her boots climbed up his back with rapid steps, her legs propelling her high into the air with a smooth backflip as she took aim and came down on Dukaan like a guillotine. The instant before he cast another ice spell, she nailed him in the center of his mask, plunging the Akaviri blade into his skull up to the hilt. Taking advantage, Agmaer shifted his grip to Brelyna's caught sword and tore it loose with a fury-driven twist of his hips. The katana went into Dukaan's heart a moment later, and the undead gave one last hiss of breath before falling back-first into the snow.

Agmaer's teeth bared in a grin as he let out a small, triumphant scoff.

The pair slowly pulled their weapons free, both breathing heavily as they embraced each other in relief. They only had a few moments of respite before Dolotlah's Voice pierced the air once more.

" _Laas-Gron-Dein_!"

And like that, their aches and fatigue vanished.

"Come," said the dragon as she offered her neck. "There is still more work to be done. I fear this battle is about to take a turn for the worse."

They frowned at each other before mounting up and taking to the skies once more.

…

In retrospect, Kodlak probably hadn't appreciated just how strong his comrade was until Skjor was freed from the shackles of human fatigue and fear. He just kept coming, one relentless sword strike after another, steadily wearing down the Harbinger's defenses. Kodlak couldn't even find a gap to shove his hammer into without leaving himself drastically exposed. He ducked to his left when Skjor came in with a diagonal overhead, the strike skating off the lower haft and pommel of his warhammer and giving him just the opening he needed. Kodlak's hammer drove headfirst into the side of Skjor's knee, caving it in partway and forcing the corpse to operate on just one leg.

With that vulnerability exploited, Kodlak drew his hammer back and came in with a hip-driven horizontal smash to the chest that sent Skjor's reanimated body flying back into the snow. Unfortunately, it didn't quite kill it, and for the first time in his life, the Harbinger found himself cursing Eorlund's steelwork. Snarling, he rushed forth and batted Skjor's blade away in a clockwise-twirling motion that brought his hammer bearing down on the corpse's head. Skjor ducked just enough to avoid the attack and lunged forth on his good leg to tackle his mentor's midsection. Kodlak braced his boots and dug into the snow behind him while one arm wrapped around Skjor's chest.

His back muscles flared with strain as his hips turned to throw Skjor's corpse behind him with his own momentum, following the grapple up with an executioner's strike to Skjor's back. The blow caved in the metal and most of the bones underneath, planting the zombie face-first into the ground. Kodlak charged up for another devastating strike when he heard a feminine scream from behind and whirled around to see Valerica being bathed in white-hot flames. His silvery eyes widened in horror, legs moving before his brain could catch up and sending him sprinting across the snow to save her.

A furious bellow came from his chest as he swung for Ahzidal's chest with everything he had. The Priest, seeming to expect the assault, dashed back through the air and unleashed a fireball at the Harbinger. Kodlak dove to his right and rolled through the snow to avoid the flames, his empty arm wrapping around Valerica's scorched and prone body on the way down and lifting her onto his shoulder on the way up. As fast as his tiring legs could carry him, Kodlak ran carried Valerica away from the cackling Dragon Priest and threw her clear of Ahzidal's range. Spinning on his heel, Kodlak fixed Ahzidal with a predatory glare and let out a low, feral growl.

His muscles burned with fatigue, but as the red-masked Priest taunted him from afar, he knew there would be no rest until this monster perished. He could not save Skjor, but Valerica…he would not fail his friends, not again. A split-second before he lunged at Ahzidal, he felt a hand on his arm stop him and turned his head to see Valerica hauling herself upright, her other hand on her forehead, as if to ward off a headache.

"Milady," Kodlak protested.

"If you tell me to stand back, I swear I'll break your jaw."

He gulped uneasily. "Understood, milady. Then use your magic to harass him from afar while I close the distance, at least until you fully recover."

Valerica's lips pursed, her upper lip twitching with a snarl of self-frustration, but she nodded all the same and prepared spells of frost and lightning.

Ahzidal laughed coarsely when he saw them take up a pincer formation. "Two on one hardly seems fair."

"You murdered my battle-brother and intend to lay waste to my home," snarled Kodlak. "I have no intentions of making this a fair fight."

And with that, the Harbinger of the Companions charged forth, his approach covered by Valerica, who sent a torrent of ice spikes and lightning strikes at the Priest. Suddenly, Ahzidal found his offensive power cut in half, as one hand had to keep a ward up at all times to prevent himself from being pummeled with the vampire's magic. Kodlak, meanwhile, was closing the distance with all speed, his hammer primed to smash. Ahzidal apparently realized he didn't have enough spell power to stop him in his tracks, at least not before Kodlak killed him, because his unoccupied hand shifted from fire magic to violet necromantic energy—that was thrown at the dragon corpse behind him.

Kodlak didn't fully understand what was happening until the scaly beast flared with violet light and runes, and the very ground shook with the sheer backwash of power that erupted from reanimating such a creature. It threw his running pattern off just enough to leave him vulnerable to a firebolt that scorched his left pauldron and hurled him back-first against the ground. The undead dragon drew itself up and let out a roar before striding its way across the ring of flames and making to finish Kodlak off with a burst of fire breath. Several consecutive lightning strikes to the face dissuaded it of this approach, prompting Kodlak to look back and see Valerica charging in to save him.

His head whipped about, half in panic, as the dragon and its master advanced on them, the old man and the wounded vampire. Kodlak's jaw clenched hard, hands tightening into fists while the heat in his blood built to a fever pitch.

 _Very well. For the sake of those dear to me…_

His eyes slipped shut in resignation.

 _…surge forth and run free, hunter of Hircine._

A low, threatening growl came from his throat as his eyes opened once more, now a vibrant ice-blue, and thick white fur encased his body from head to toe. Kodlak's howl split the air of Solstheim when he launched himself from the ground and pounced on the dragon's head, claws slashing furiously. The undead lizard thrashed its neck about, trying to throw him clear, but he held fast with his jaws clamped around the thing's left horn. His interference allowed Valerica to refocus on Ahzidal, her spells coming fast and hard while she twirled around his return fire. Kodlak lined all the fingers of his left hand up, his claws linking together to form a kind of spearhead that was then driven into the dragon's eye.

At this, the dragon was finally able to throw him clear, but the werewolf rolled and recovered onto all fours as soon as he hit the ground, bloody jowls dripping with dragon blood and saliva as the two beasts faced off. The dragon's fire breath melted the snow where Kodlak had just been when the white wolf took off to the side, zigzagging his way toward the dragon and rapidly closing the distance before he could hope to take off. The wyrm spun on its heel and whipped its tail at Kodlak, the Harbinger leaping upward and catching the appendage with his forepaws. His hold on the dragon's tail allowed him to sink his claws into it over and over again, and when the creature finally slowed down, he leapt for the thing's wings, shredding those as well.

One critical point after another was laid to waste as he steadily took the dragon apart, like a hunter with much larger, stronger prey. For the first time since becoming a werewolf, the Harbinger was glad for his wolf blood. At no other point had that power been so beautifully poised, not just for destruction, but to protect those closest to him. He still vied for the joyous shores of Sovngarde, but if it meant that others would not go there before their time, it was a sacrifice he would gladly make. It was right as he was about to carve a hole in the dragon's neck that he saw Valerica and Ahzidal embroiled in a furious magical duel, the vampire so engrossed in the lock of their spells that she didn't see the half-crippled figure coming up behind her. Eyes widening in alarm, Kodlak coiled up his body and lunged for Valerica's back in a gigantic leap.

And a second later, Skjor's Skyforged sword pierced Kodlak's chest instead of Valerica's heart.

Kodlak felt a fierce burning sensation fill his chest as the blade scraped against his ribs, the werewolf's arms just managing to stop Skjor from thrusting it in further. The Harbinger's eyes met his friend's corrupted violet ones, and saw something behind them that hadn't been there before. And then, in a hoarse, rasping voice that carried just a trace of his battle-brother, he spoke.

"E-End…me… _please_."

Kodlak gasped and hacked for air as his transformed vocal cords just managed to form his reply. "Goodbye…old friend."

His arms snapped up to Skjor's head and wrenched his neck a hundred degrees in the wrong direction. A pronounced hissing sound pierced the air as the Companion's body disintegrated into ash, his soul finally allowed to pass on to Hircine's eternal hunt. Kodlak felt himself smile.

 _If anyone would enjoy such an afterlife, it would be Skjor._

And then a searing pain reminded him of the sword in his chest, prompting him to slowly pull it loose and collapse to the ground. His body receded to human form a moment later, most of his heavier plate having been thrown off during the transformation, and amid the pain and gasps for breath, he was distantly aware of Valerica screaming his name. A hiss of displaced snow indicated her arrival at his side, her hands around his neck and shifting to see him better. His eyes met hers through the blurring of his vision, those sunset glows holding his attention far better than the words he could see her trying to scream at him. He just kept smiling as she placed her left palm against his wound, a surge of magic stopping the bleeding but none of the pain. Kodlak's bloody fingers drifted up to her face, his index leaving a drop of his blood on her lower lip as she stared at him, wide-eyed with something akin to panic.

Then his eyes drifted shut, and he passed out in her arms.

…

Valerica stared down at the unconscious Harbinger with her heart hammering painfully in her chest. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only focus on the dying man in her grasp with the realization that they were flanked on either side by a powerful fire mage and a fire-breathing undead dragon. And of all things, she was a vampire, and all-too-vulnerable to their magic. Her teeth ground together as her grip around Kodlak's ailing body tightened. Suddenly, she understood the haunted look in her daughter's eyes when Serana had told her about Ketar's near-death experience at the hands of Vyrthur.

And the fierce, profound rage that followed.

Slowly, body trembling with a mix of fear and anger, Valerica set Kodlak's body down and turned to face her enemies. It had been… _centuries_ since she had unleashed this side of her. A part of her was afraid she'd be too out of practice to make a difference. The rest didn't care, as long as she got to tear the both of them apart. Both the dragon and its master advanced on her, the former taking a breath while the latter prepared another fire spell. An instant before she sprang into action, a sonic _boom_ sounded from above, catching everyone's attention just in time to see a red-gold form drop on the dragon like a meteor.

The color scheme alone gave her a hint as to the identity of the interloper, but the instant she saw the cloak, she knew. While a part of her rebelled at his interference, the rest was roiling in sadistic glee as she turned her full attention to Ahzidal. The vampire matron took one slow, strutting step after the next, advancing on the halted Priest with a threatening smile.

"Keep that thing muzzled," she ordered the armored figure currently pinning the dragon. "He's _mine_."

And with a surge of darkness and a scream like a banshee, Valerica's transformed body flew toward Ahzidal. Her red cloak flapped in the wind, the golden crown on her head glinting in the sun, and the fire in her blood surged with one purpose.

 _Kill._

Her left hand summoned a ward that completely nullified Ahzidal's stream of flame.

 _Kill._

Her claws slashed the Priest's wrists, disabling his casting hands, and her taloned feet grabbed his ankles before using her body weight to hurl him back-first into the ground.

 _Kill!_

Ahzidal tried to flee by flying away, but Valerica's left hand shot out and grabbed his leg, dragging him back down to the ground. Her barbed wings each stabbed into one of his wrists as her feet planted in the snow, her right arm taking hold of his other ankle. As one, all four limbs pulled in opposite directions, Valerica's fangs bared savagely as, with a monstrous roar and burst of strength driven by near-madness, she quite literally tore Ahzidal limb from limb. Still, this wasn't quite enough for her, so she grabbed the Priest's masked head with one head while the other held what was left of his torso, and pulled his head off too. Her foot crushed his rib cage, and she threw the remaining parts of his corpse into the ring of flames for good measure.

Her lungs heaved with heavy breaths as she stood in the aftermath of the carnage, head snapping toward the armored figure standing next to a now-dead dragon. His helmet was off now, allowing his salt-and-pepper hair to drift in the wind and revealing the mildly amused look on his face.

"Are you done?" he asked with mirth in his voice.

Valerica's eyes narrowed as she shifted back to human form. "Are you?"

Lord Zhanikan cast a glance at the dragon's corpse, which suddenly began decomposing into arcs of energy. Valerica's eyes widened when those arcs flew toward him, as if called to his form. Her jaw dropped as well when he held up a hand and stopped the energy in its tracks, that same hand dismissing it with a gesture and sending it dissipating into the air. A moment and a sigh later, Zhanikan turned to Kodlak with a worried look in his eyes, approaching the Harbinger as Valerica did the same. They both bent over his wounded form, exchanging a long look before the sound of an explosion from the direction of Lake Fjalding caught Zhan's attention.

The king turned back to her with a torn look on his face.

Valerica reluctantly tipped her head in assent. "Go. I'll take care of him."

Zhanikan frowned and nodded as he straightened up. "Kodlak is a dear friend. Please see that you do."

His honey-gold eyes hardened as they turned to the horizon, a section at the back of his armored collar shifting to permit a series of overlapping plates to unfold and morph around his features. Two seconds later, his retracted helmet had re-formed, leaving only the faint glint of his eyes visible. He bent down some distance from them, the fingers of his right hand splayed out toward the ground, and for just a moment, Valerica could see the snow around him lift and spiral, as if caught in some unseen current. Then he launched himself into the air, and another _boom_ split the sky as he flew off to battle.

…

All told, Zahkriisos was a worthy opponent. Not, however, worthy enough to last long against a berserker with legendary magical weapons, a Nightingale, and a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El. His lightning strikes were caught by Lydia's Spellbreaker while Gelebor pounded him with sun bolts from afar and Brynjolf continuously sapped his energy with a life siphon. The Elf kept up the pressure to give his melee-oriented comrades the opportunity they needed to close the distance, but Zahkriisos was not about to give up. He snatched up a weapon from one of his fallen Draugr, an ancient axe, in one hand to ward off their close strikes while his other hand tried to counter with bursts of lightning magic.

And for a time, he managed to hold them at bay, but even he knew his end was inevitable. As such, he waited until Lydia and Brynjolf were close enough to kill him and executed a channeled spell that sent an electric explosion erupting from his body. Arcs of electricity surged through them as his lightning cloak bathed them in magic, flashes of their bones just visible in the massive eruption of energy. Quick thinking by Gelebor and a concussive spell based on Serana's kinetic bolt sent the lovers flying out of Zahkriisos' range, making himself the Priest's only opponent left standing.

Zahkriisos wasted no time in pressing his advantage, retrieving his fallen axe and flying at Gelebor at maximum speed. The Paladin snapped a mithril mace from his belt and deflected his first blow, ducking under a second and twirling his body away from Zahkriisos' relentless melee assault. With his empty hand, he cast a sun bolt at the Priest's back, searing another hole into his armor and causing him to roar in rage as he whirled toward Gelebor. The last of the Snow Elves grit his teeth, feeling his lack of practice showing as his fatigue began rising by startling margins.

His mace and defenses were battered, over and over, until the weapon was struck from his grasp and sent flying into the snow. Laughing, Zahkriisos brought his axe down on Gelebor's head, trying to cave in his skull, but the Elf threw his mithril-encased arms up in an X that stopped the weapon in its tracks. Zahkriisos continued to push against him, his boots sliding across the ice as he was driven further and further toward the hole the Priest had made earlier. One final push sent Gelebor careening into the freezing cold water, his form vanishing from sight a moment later. Zahkriisos snorted derisively as he dismissed Gelebor from his considerations and made his way back to the unconscious couple.

Sparks danced between his fingers as he approached them, his axe discarded and hands rising as he gathered enough power to reduce them both to ash.

He never got the chance.

The ice right in front of him exploded with light as a figure bright as the sun flew out of the water and hovered before him. The silvery glint of his mithril armor had risen to a blinding degree, the red gem in his crown glowing as brightly as the magic in his hands. And the look in his ice-blue eyes was one of pure righteous fury. Gelebor's hands thrust forth, sending a ball of light straight at Zahkriisos' mask and searing his head from his shoulders. Point of fact, all that was left was a smoking hole on the undead's neck where his head used to be. Slowly, Gelebor's body drifted back to the ground, and he planted his boots on the ice before turning to Brynjolf and Lydia.

His armored form crouched over theirs for a moment, worry etched into his features until the rapid flapping of wings caught his attention, and he whirled around with a spell at the ready. He stopped in his tracks when he realized who it was, and bowed as Serana reverted to human form. Her concern was just as evident as his as she bent over the bodies of her fallen friends.

A relieved sigh left her lungs a moment later. "They're okay. Just won't be waking up for a while." She transformed back into a vampire lord and picked them up, one in each arm. "Thank you for looking after them, but right now, we need you on the front lines." She hefted her friends. "I'll get these troublemakers to a healer."

Gelebor bowed reverently and pulled the mail mask back up over his features as he made for the heart of the fight.

"And Gelebor…"

He turned back to see Serana's glowing eyes shining with gratitude.

"…thank you for answering his call."

The Paladin simply bowed again and took off while Serana flew in the opposite direction.

…

From the moment they'd both triggered their Dragon Aspects, Ketar had made a point to keep their fight in close quarters, to stay right up in Miraak's face so as to limit his options for magic or using his sword like a whip. At present, they were pacing around each other almost within weapons reach, just a short step away. Momentary tension on Miraak's part prompted Ketar to lunge back a step and swing his sword in a circular motion that carried it behind and above him, then crashing down on Miraak's stabbing blade. The maneuver sent both their swords into the ground, Ketar's on top, and he used that position to thrust at Miraak's neck.

The other Dragonborn jerked his head to the side, avoiding the strike, and twirled his body clockwise in a slash meant to perforate Ketar's back. He shifted Alduin's Bane to guard his shoulderblades, turning counter-clockwise on his hip and moving his body around Miraak's sword to shift his back-block into a wing-block. From there, he used a Blades maneuver to counter with a falling diagonal swipe aimed just below Miraak's rib cage. They spun and danced around each other's strikes in an intricate pattern of ducks, parries, and ripostes. The fire and thrill of battle sang in Ketar's blood the longer they fought, and if he had to guess, Miraak was enjoying their duel just as much, if for vastly different reasons.

Ketar drew a breath and unleashed his Voice in a burst of Unrelenting Force.

To which Miraak countered with, " _Feim_!" allowing the blast of concussive energy to pass right through his ethereal form. It also allowed Ketar to lunge forward and stick his sword through Miraak's chest in preparation for when he became solid again. The First Dragonborn just managed to shift his body in time to avoid being skewered, in a position that allowed him to keep Ketar's blade tucked under his left arm, which then trapped his arms in place while he prepared to thrust his own sword through Ketar's neck. Ketar took a play out of Miraak's book and went ethereal, which didn't quite have the effect he'd wanted, since both went out of physical phase at once due to their physical contact.

It did allow Ketar to use his new near-weightless form to pop his hips upward and wrap both legs around Miraak's attacking arm. With a turn of his hips and a growl of effort, Ketar sent them both tumbling to the ground by folding Miraak in half as soon as they were corporeal again. He lost hold of his sword somewhere in the scramble, and made sure Miraak did the same when he backhanded the other Dragonborn in the wrist and followed it up with a cross to the face. Miraak grunted and shifted his legs to tangle around Ketar's attacking arm, grappling him off and following with a ground kick to the chest.

Ketar rolled away, retracting his cloak for easier movement and dashing back in with a barrage of rapid-fire jabs aimed at Miraak's face and chest. He dodged most of them, their ethereal dragon armor roiling with every near-touch and flashing with light whenever their bodies made contact. Miraak bent over backwards while Ketar was mid-cross, his back leg coming up to catch the younger man in the lower ribs a split-second before the other shot up to snap across his jaw. Miraak's right hand braced against the stony ground as his momentum threw him into a slanted cartwheel, his feet hitting the ground a moment later and catapulting him back toward Ketar with a series of palm strikes to the chest and gut.

Ketar felt the wind steadily knocked out of him with each hit, the same way his stamina was drained when Miraak's sword nicked him. When Miraak tried to finish his combo with a double-palm to the chest, Ketar caught his wrists and stopped his advance with a thrusting knee to the chest. He shifted that same leg behind Miraak's and pushed forward in an attempt to trip him, but Miraak managed to slip his grip and grab him behind the head with one hand while the other knife-handed his neck hard. A momentary lapse in oxygen flow to the brain sent Ketar reeling and stumbling away, leaving him vulnerable to a spinning trip-kick that laid him out on the ground chest-first.

Before he could even think of getting back up, Miraak axe-kicked him in the back, just missing his spine, and followed that with a blast of Unrelenting Force that pummeled his body into a new crater and all but shattered his Dragon Aspect. Ketar coughed and gasped for breath, black spots swimming over his vision as he pulled his mask and hood back and fought to stay conscious. He was distantly aware of Miraak's movement toward the book at the end of the platform, and pushed himself to a kneel with shaking limbs.

"I appreciate the valiance of your attempt to stop me, Ketar, I really do." Miraak hovered his hand over the book, a green ring made of runes and Daedric sigils surrounding his hand and the tome. "Your only mistake was believing I had to be on the outside to initiate the portal. Now that the All-Maker Stones are completely under my control, I have all the power I need to unleash my army from in here."

Ketar's blue eyes widened in alarm.

Miraak's right hand flexed and snapped toward the book, creating a massive explosion of green light far off in the distance and prompting a throng of monstrous roars to sound from that location. "This battle is as good as over, Ketar." He slowly turned back to the younger man, arms splayed outward. "You have lost." One of the dark pools of liquid on the platform emitted a tentacle that wrapped around Miraak's sword and threw it back into his grasp. "Your friends will die in agony, a glorious immolation that shall serve as my coronation." He pointed his sword at Ketar. "But you? You're all mine."

Ketar's teeth gritted as he telekinetically recalled his blade, the dragonbone sword dragging across the stones with a low screech. "You're wrong. They'll win. They'll find a way." He used Alduin's Bane to push himself upright, then hefted the sword with heavy breaths. "They always do."

Miraak's head cocked. "Your _Thu'um_ is strong, _mal Dovahkiin_ , but is it strong enough to drive so few to overpower so many?"

"Numbers don't win battles." He grinned confidently. "Heroes do."

Miraak laughed and twirled his blade downward, the whip-blade scoring a gash in the stones below. "Then come, and let us finally determine which of us is right!"

Ketar's jaw clenched as he felt his Dragon Aspect leech away, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Akatosh for getting him this far, and one of supplication to protect his family on the outside.

 _For better or worse, father…I hope I've made you proud._

…

When Lord Zhanikan touched down on the battlefield, the Companions, College mages, Thieves Guild, and Brotherhood were finishing up the latest wave of undead and Daedra. A minute or two later, Bard had returned from Mount Moesring in werewolf form only to transform back just in time to see an eruption of magic from the peak of Miraak's temple.

"That can't be good," said a nearby Companion.

Tolfdir, Ketar's second at the College, frowned and shook his head uneasily. "I'm afraid it isn't. That was another portal just now, and by the sound of it—"

One glance was enough to confirm that the hills were now _crawling_ with Miraak's forces.

"—a _massive_ one."

Zhanikan frowned and retracted his helmet into his armor. "Your mages have networked many spells today. Do they have something that can destroy this many?"

Tolfdir's head shook. "Even if they did, the sheer strain of casting it would kill them."

"Not if it were focused through a medium of sufficient power. That would allow you to both cast without adverse effects and properly direct the energy."

Esbern stepped forward with a shrug. "But where would we find such an object, and who would carry it? That person would have to be almost as strong as the medium itself to be able to direct the energy, much less _survive_ it."

"I can do it."

Zhan and the others turned to a new arrival in silvery white metal armor, a pair of pale, pointed ears just visible under the crown that served as his helmet.

"I can be the medium."

Esbern looked the stranger over with a suspicious gaze. "And who in Talos' name are you?"

He stepped forward confidently. "Gelebor, a friend of Ketar Dov, and the bearer of Auriel's Armor."

Zhanikan's eyebrows hiked skyward as he laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I appreciate the offer, but—"

"No buts. I am a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El." He waved at the approaching army of monsters. "Casting such demons from this world is what I was _born_ to do."

"The strain of such an effort could—and likely will—kill you," said Tolfdir.

With a resigned sigh, he pulled the mail mask down and revealed pale, Elven features. "As one who has sat on the sidelines of history for too long…" his eyes hardened, "that is a risk I am willing to take. The Armor of Auriel is an artifact of the highest magic, forged of the purest mithril and enchanted by the greatest Prelates of the Snow Elves. It will survive the casting, even if I do not."

The old mages exchanged a look as Zhanikan frowned deeply.

"Are you sure of this?" asked the king. "If you have any doubts, I can do this in your place."

At that, everyone's stares shifted to him.

His lips pursed tightly. "I've done such things in the past, once or twice, though never, I think, to quite this magnitude; and my armor is of similar quality and origin. So I ask you, Paladin…do you have any doubts?"

The Elf smiled and shook his head. "None."

Zhan nodded slowly, then turned to Esbern and Tolfdir. "Then get to work on that spell. The rest of us will buy you the time you need."

"I'm sorry," protested Esbern, "who are you exactly?"

"He's a friend," said an approaching female voice. Serana smiled at Zhan and Bard. "And he has my trust."

Esbern frowned and bowed his head. "Very well." He turned back to Tolfdir. "Any ideas, friend?"

The Alteration master stroked his gray beard as the rest of the troops made up a new defensive line. "What about…"

"The banishing spell!"

They both whirled toward the new voice, spotting Brelyna and Agmaer climbing off Dolotlah's back.

Tolfdir blinked. "Of course! They're all undead or Daedra! A banishing spell of that magnitude could send them all packing quite nicely!"

"Assuming the medium is as powerful as he claims," said Esbern with a nod at Gelebor.

Gelebor's head bowed slightly. "It _will_ work, I assure you. Simply have your mages focus all their energy on me, and I shall do the rest."

The old mages nodded and made for the rest of the College's students and faculty while Gelebor stayed to guard them. Agmaer, Brelyna, and the rest of the front-line fighters rushed to their forces' defensive line, all forming up behind Lord Zhanikan, even Serana.

"We hold them!" Zhan shouted to the troops. "Here and now! Let none pass!"

Serana glanced his way as the golden plates of his helmet extended once more and encased his head in alchemic metal, the rest drawing weapons and facing off with the first wave of approaching Draugr and Daedra. Bard also drew his adamantium sword instead of his spear, the tip dragging back and forth across the snow in front of him as every muscle in his body hankered for a fight. Serana smirked at his fervor, her basket-hilt leaving its sheath along with Sunset's Bite. A cluster of over a dozen Draugr led by two Seekers and supplemented by a hulking Lurker approached first, Brelyna and Agmaer flanking Serana on either side like her bodyguards.

With Brynjolf and Lydia out of commission, she supposed they were.

Zhanikan's sword left its sheath, its gold-encrusted edge glowing with otherworldly light as he held it at his side. His other hand touched the amulet at his neck again, Serana noticing for the first time that it was actually fixed to a slot in his chestplate, as if it were part of the armor itself. The clouds above thickened and crackled with thunder, and a second later, a dozen lances of white lightning struck the enemy like celestial javelins. Serana had no idea how he was doing that. Obviously, the amulet was enchanted, but not even _Ketar_ had that kind of control when it came to lightning storms.

Bard was the first to surge forward, making for the least-touched cluster of enemies and twirling his body in a triple-spiral that turned his adamantium blade into a whirlwind of death. Draugr and Seekers lost their limbs and heads one after another, wherever he went. When he so much as twitched his wrist, his sword just _moved_ , his strikes coming faster and harder until the blade was just an endless silvery blur. Even Serana was having a hard time keeping track of his sword's movements, though a second after he smashed into the enemy lines, she had problems of her own.

Two Draugr lunged at her from opposite sides, one with a spear, the other a warhammer. Brelyna blasted one in the face with a firebolt while Agmaer threw his axe into the head of the other. Serana finished off the scorched Draugr with a slash to the neck and turned to the next enemy with a parry and riposte that pierced its spine. Her underhanded dagger slashed its head off an instant later, the body thrown into another squad of Draugr and used to slow them long enough for Zhanikan to blast them with an explosive spell that reduced them to their component limbs.

The man himself engaged each new threat like a walking tidal wave, an unstoppable force of nature that rolled over anything in its way. Serana couldn't tell exactly how that sword of his was enchanted, but if she had to guess, with the way anyone he struck went flying or was torn in half, it made every blow hit with the force of a dozen. Agmaer and Brelyna suddenly stepped between her and an incoming squad of Draugr, working together and crisscrossing their strikes to expertly take apart their enemy. Serana couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come together, how far all of them had come, even as she dispatched a Seeker with her sword down its gullet and her dagger hacking off its arms.

The Lurker that had escorted the rest of the incoming forces surged forward with a roar, and Serana bared her teeth in a predatory smile as she coiled up to meet it. Someone else got there first, someone with a lot more hair than her. Bard's lupine form dashed in front of the Lurker as it was about to take a swing at a group of Imperial soldiers, his clawed hands catching its arms by the wrists and stopping it in its tracks. The two creatures snarled and growled at each other in the midst of their struggle until Serana saw Bard make the werewolf equivalent of a smile.

And he let go.

The Lurker went stumbling past him as he twisted away and shifted back to human form, the Daedra unknowingly making a beeline for Lord Zhanikan. He finished dispatching the armored Draugr in his grip with a beheading backhand strike, then turned toward the approaching monster with a cold look in his just-visible eyes. Their honey gold flared with what Serana could've sworn was a twinge of glowing red as Zhan cocked his head partway to one side, sword held loosely at his hip. The Lurker hissed and snarled at him, then drew its right hand back and made to punch his head off with one rage-driven blow.

Serana lunged forward, her perfect gem at the ready and about to form a shield to protect him when he reached out with his empty left hand—

 _Boom!_

—and stopped the Lurker's blow in its tracks…with one hand.

Serana's jaw dropped and eyes went double-wide as the creature—which was easily twice his size—struggled and growled at its inability to move its fist either forward or backward. Zhan's helmeted head slowly cocked in the other direction, the Daedra meeting his gaze, and his left hand shook for a moment before clenching into a fist—crushing the bones within its grip like dry twigs. As it reeled and shrieked in pain, clutching its injured limb, Zhan splayed his arms out to his sides and began hovering, his red cloak billowing all around him as he rose above the Lurker. He forced it to look _up_ at him before shifting his sword to a two-handed grip.

In the blink of an eye, he _dropped_ , straight down, a flash of silvery light indicating the afterimage of his sword's path. Two seconds later, the Lurker fell to the ground in two pieces, perfectly bisected from the crown of its head to groin. Zhanikan cast it one last look before returning his attention to the battle. An uncontrollable nervous shiver ran down Serana's spine as she stared at his golden-armored form. Suddenly, his gaze snapped to her, and she gulped in reflex.

"We need to fall back!" he shouted, voice slightly distorted by the helmet. "The spell is almost ready!"

She blinked in confusion. "How do you—"

His empty hand pointed behind them, and when she turned, she had to wonder how she hadn't noticed it before. A _gigantic_ array of glowing circles and runes had formed across the lines of mages, with Gelebor, Esbern, and Tolfdir at the very center. Brelyna had already fallen back and added her magic to the mix. After casting one last glance at the approaching torrent of enemies, Serana decided to do the same.

Gelebor stood at the front of the array, palm against fist, with his eyes closed in focus. His armor was already glowing so brightly, Serana could hardly stand being near it, much less looking at it. Still, she reached out and poured every scrap of her magicka into the mages' array, feeling the tax of the draw sap the strength from her bones until she got a handle on the flow of energy. Her breathing was soon labored and in need of constant management if she wanted to remain standing, leaving her wondering how on Nirn the lesser mages were even _conscious_ at this point.

She got her answer when she saw the golden-armored figure standing directly behind Gelebor, his cloak flapping in the wind, both hands overlapped and extended toward the Elven Paladin.

"Let us send these foul creatures back to the abyss they crawled from," said Gelebor firmly.

Serana huffed and smiled. "Amen."

The Elf glanced over his shoulder and sent a smile her way, then exhaled hard and nodded as he faced the enemy. "I'm ready."

Tolfdir gave a nod to the other mages. "Begin!"

Tolfdir and Esbern flanked Gelebor on either side, harnessing the magicka surrounding his armor and body and using him to channel a _massive_ combined spell of violet and cyan energy. Serana kept pouring her magicka into the Paladin, the Armor of Auriel glowing brighter and brighter with every second. As the spells channeling increased in power, Serana's vampire hearing just managed to pick up the quiet words passing from his lips.

 _"The mantras of Auri-El: balance in all things."_

Gelebor's feet began to lift off the ground, his glowing form hovering just a few feet above the snow.

 _"Fury, tempered by compassion."_

His fist opened slowly, palm to the back of his fingertips as his arms drifted apart.

 _"Confidence, but with humility."_

His armor vibrated violently with the power it was being forced to contain.

 _"Love, balanced by wisdom."_

His arms splayed outward, palms-up, hands and armor blindingly bright. His eyes, now glowing the same as his armor, snapped open; and his voice boomed and echoed alongside another familiar one. A fatherly one.

 _"In the name of Auri-El, of Akatosh—"_

His arms curved upward, right hand curling into a fist once more as it pressed against his other palm.

 _"—begone!"_

With an otherworldly roar, Gelebor came crashing down fist-first into the ground, the light of his armor unleashed all at once in an all-consuming tidal wave of power that surged over the slopes of Solstheim. The torrent of silvery energy flew over the snow and rock, over the Draugr and Daedra, cleansing everything it touched and washing away the filth and corruption of Miraak and Hermaeus Mora. Seekers and Lurkers were banished to Apocrypha, the trapped souls of the Draugr severed from their rotting corpses. In one devastating burst of holy magic, the remains of Miraak's non-draconic army were banished from the mortal realm of Mundus—never to be seen again.

…

Losing his Dragon Aspect in such a devastating magical beatdown took an incredible toll on Ketar's body. At no point was that more apparent than when Miraak, whose ethereal armor had also faded, strode up to him and began battering him with hip-driven sword strikes. Their enchanted blades crashed together, over and over again, and each time, Ketar felt himself shaken to the very bones. His teeth chattered with the sheer force of it, and he felt like any second, he was going to drop of exhaustion. He just managed to stop one of Miraak's overhead strikes, the rogue Dragonborn pushing him across the stones as Ketar braced his hands on either end of his sword.

Miraak took advantage of his weakness and snap-kicked him in the gut, bending him over in a fit of violent coughs. His pommel struck Ketar in the back, sending him crashing chest-first to the ground and writhing around in pain and exhaustion. Miraak paced around him, voice agitated and laced with frustration.

"Do you know how long I have been waiting for this moment? For the day of my return?"

Miraak kicked Ketar in the ribs, sending him rolling away with a groan.

"An _eternity_! Banished from my home."

Another kick.

"Betrayed by those I love."

He swung his blade upward, Ketar just managing to deflect the strike, but finding himself laid out by a kick to the chest.

"All for wanting to liberate them from the monsters our father created."

Ketar coughed hard, gasping for air as he forced himself to sit up. "You…you didn't do it for them."

Miraak stared at him, his visible eye blinking once. "Maybe not." He shrugged, a smile in his voice. "But it's a little late for regrets."

Ketar sagged, as if to collapse, then lunged his arm forward and up in a surprise stab. Miraak beat him to it, and a lance of searing pain pierced his lower side, just missing his kidney, but making his grip around the Bane go limp anyhow. The sword clattered to the ground as Miraak grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the platform. Ketar gasped and pushed his palms against the stones, trying to clamber to his feet.

"I _will_ conquer your world, Ketar," growled Miraak as he strode toward Ketar's prone form. "Everything you love will be mine…" his left hand shot out and fisted in Ketar's hair as he hissed into his ear, "even if I have to break them the old-fashioned way."

Ketar's bloodied teeth bared as he bellowed and launched himself toward Miraak, the Blade of Woe flying from its sheath and slashing at his enemy's chest and neck with rapid swipes. Miraak tried to use his sword, but Ketar kept his empty hand pressing back against Miraak's armed wrist. Miraak jabbed him in the ribs, but between the rage and already-searing pain in his opposite side, he barely felt it. A head-butt sent intense vibrations through Miraak's mask, followed by a knee to the gut and downward stab toward his shoulder. Miraak juked away and elbowed him in the ribs, prompting Ketar to grab him by the back of the neck to keep him in place.

Ketar stabbed at Miraak's face, missing when he jerked his head in the opposite direction, and followed up by slashing toward the side of his head. Miraak ducked under the Blade and shoved his shoulder down in an attempt at a tackle. Ketar braced his legs against the ground further back, halting Miraak's advance, and kept his left arm locked around the rogue Dragonborn's sword arm while he tried to get his dagger into a good stabbing position. Miraak's low position allowed him to grab Ketar's leg at the knee, lifting the limb to throw him to the ground. Ketar turned it back on him when he threw his hips left and turned his backward plant into a sideways roll, throwing Miraak into a skid that carried him through one of the dark pools.

The spray of liquid that resulted from the impact blinded Miraak long enough for Ketar to take aim, the Blade of Woe flying through and nailing him in the shoulder. Miraak yelled and growled as he ripped the knife out, Ketar feeling the wound in his side seal shut as the Blade's magic took effect.

"You will not take this from me!" Miraak bellowed, pointing his sword at Ketar and swiping it at his legs.

Ketar corkscrewed over the blade and landed in a half-crouch, eyes alight with pure fire. "You already gave it up…along with your humanity." He straightened up and drew a deep breath before unleashing his Voice once more. " _Mul-Qah-Diiv_!"

His skintight ethereal armor instantly encased every inch of him including his face, his now-scaly skin and glowing eyes the only indications that something had changed.

Miraak's visible eye was doubly wide. "That's impossible."

Ketar's hand snapped to the side and recalled Alduin's Bane to his grasp a moment before he snapped the sword out to the side, its blade erupting with magic and rapidly wreathed in ethereal blue flames. Then he just waited for Miraak to rush him, and one move flowed into the next as he surrendered to the power inside him. As with Alduin, Miraak's rage and desperation for victory drove his every move, and that made him all-too-predictable. Ketar danced and pirouetted around his enemy's strikes, their blades clashing and sparking as rational thought vacated their duel and instinct took over.

Suddenly, Miraak let off a series of whip-strikes from opposing sides, one cascading after the next and forcing Ketar to angle his body in a way that threw him off-balance to avoid them.

" _Ven-Gaar-Nos_!"

Miraak's sudden Shout sent Ketar flying through the air, his cloak deploying and arresting his haphazard motion enough for him to refocus on Miraak and see him fire off a powerful lightning spell. Thinking quickly, Ketar threw up a ward using the Bane's sapphire as a focus, but it didn't solidify rapidly enough. The resulting shattering sent him flipping backward, the Dragonborn just managing to land in a rough recovery roll on the far side of the platform.

" _Wuld-Nah-Kest_!"

Ketar's Whirlwind Sprint carried him straight toward Miraak, his sword held out to the side and nearly carving through his opponent's chest before Miraak just managed to lunge away. The moment his feet were on the ground, he thrust the Bane at Miraak and kept twirling his body with the other Dragonborn's deflect in an endless spiral of diagonal strikes. Amid one of his flashier pirouettes, Miraak dive-rolled away and blasted him in the back with a lightning bolt. It wasn't enough to hurt him that much, but it stunned him all the same and allowed Miraak to score a deep gash on his back in a passing cut.

Ketar ducked and performed a backhanded swing on instinct, managing to slice a thin line across Miraak's left calf. They both lunged at once, swords skating off each other as they dashed past. And then they were back-to-back, just within arms' reach, with no time to dodge and only one move left to play. So they both whirled to their left, their blades couched at their sides in preparation to thrust. Tandem cries of fury erupted from their throats as they finally managed to face each other, their swords stabbing forth like opposing bolts of lightning.

A single wet _thunk_ pierced the air as their cries echoed through the empty space of Apocrypha, heavy breathing the only thing that split the otherwise silent air. Their eyes met in an intense lock, each finding the same fire burning in the other's gaze. Blood dripped from both their blades, and for a few moments, they both seemed completely frozen in time.

And then Miraak let out a single wet sputter when Ketar twisted Alduin's Bane further into his gut, the younger man wincing at the pain of Miraak's blade digging into his grasping fingers.

His left hand had caught the Daedric sword mid-thrust and directed it away from his vital organs at the last possible second while his right made sure the Bane struck true. With a body-wide tremble, Ketar brought his lips up to where Miraak's ears would've been on the other side of the mask and lowered his voice to a malevolent hiss.

"That was for Lizette, you son of a bitch."

Releasing his own sword, Ketar jabbed his elbow into Miraak's throat, then knife-handed his armed wrist and ripped the sword from his grasp. In the same counter-clockwise motion, he spun his body into another stab that sent Miraak's own blade through the left side of his chest. He met Miraak's gaze once more, snarling with vengeful fury.

"And _this_ is for Serana."

Ketar's right hand tensed around the sword's hilt in instinct, prompting the sickly green blade to more than triple in length and punch the rest of the way through Miraak's body. The impaled Dragonborn gasped and sputtered for breath, his hands spasming and grasping at Ketar's face.

Miraak just managed to gasp out a few words amid his agony. "W-What—are—you?"

Ketar smiled malevolently as he shifted his left hand to the hilt of Alduin's Bane, getting right up in Miraak's face as he snarled his answer. "I'm the Last Dragonborn."

And with that, he shoved Miraak off the Bane by the hilt of the Daedric sword, effectively staking him on his own weapon when the tip of the extended blade hit stone and served as a pillar against the ground. Ketar whipped his sword into his right hand and twirled it upright, then snapped it down and away to shake off Miraak's blood. He smoothly returned it to the scabbard on his back with a twirling flourish and a slow sheathing corresponding with a long, calming breath. The sharp exhale at the end prompted him to send the last few inches of the blade snapping into its sheath, and his right arm fell to his side a moment later as he held the gaze of his dying enemy.

An eruption of darkness in the air behind Miraak's body immediately caught Ketar's attention and made him scowl.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" Ketar growled.

The grotesque manifestation of Hermaeus Mora hummed in consideration. "You have done well indeed, despite your rejection of my gifts." His largest eye shifted to fix Miraak with a judging gaze. " _You_ might have learned something from him…had your arrogance not prevented it."

"M-Mora," he gasped out. "Give me…the strength to beat him…and I shall give you…whatever you desire."

The Daedric Lord hummed once, rather aggressively, before giving his reply. "Do you think me blind because I did not interfere directly? You harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. That much was clear from the start. This is simply your just dessert." His eye looked back to a still-scowling Ketar. "His armor, his blade, the staff…all yours now. I only require his soul."

At this Ketar snarled and stepped forward, hands clenched into fists. " _No_. His gear, his knowledge, everything you gave him— _keep it_. I don't want any of your tainted gifts. But his soul?" He smirked malevolently, right hand drifting to a pouch at the back of his belt. "His soul is _mine_."

At this, Miraak's gaze turned to him, his visible green eye widening in alarm. "W-What are you playing at?"

Ketar just smiled wider. "I'm just keeping my promise, Miraak. After all…" his right hand came back into view, revealing the violet, crystalline Black Star, "I said this would _hurt_."

Miraak's ailing body began to shake more violently, his head whipping back and forth between Ketar and Mora. "Mora! Lord Mora! Please!"

"If it's any consolation…"

"Stop him! _Now_!"

Ketar's eyes glinted with cruel fire as he held the Black Star in front of his chest. "…you will be _far_ more useful in death…than you _ever_ were in life."

Miraak had no more words, only a frightened, pleading stare that met Ketar's cold gaze.

A single breath passed into Ketar's lungs before he unleashed his Voice. " _Rii-Vaaz-Zol_!"

A powerful arc of violet light speared into Miraak's body, the First Dragonborn screaming in agony as his soul was forcefully ripped from its vessel. Arcs of pure energy flowed from his bloody form into the Black Star—the only soul gem powerful enough to hold the soul of a dragon. The backwash of such a transfer, on the other hand, now _that_ was enough to shake Ketar and nearly enough to cave in his right arm. His left hand shot up to support it as he overlapped his hands, jaw clenching against the pain. He growled in exertion as the last bits of Miraak's soul poured into the Daedric artifact, and like that, the torrent stopped, and he was left with a glowing star filled with every scrap of power and knowledge Miraak had ever held.

As he stared into its crystalline facets, Ketar's fingers clenched around the vessel.

 _I've got you…you're mine now, not his. If all goes well, you'll thank me for this someday…you bastard._

With a last tightening of his grip, Ketar opened the rift and threw the Black Star inside for safekeeping, a long, relieved sigh leaving his body a moment after it closed.

"Well played, mortal."

Ketar's face fell as he was forced to return his attention to Mora.

"I can already see that you will surpass Miraak in every way. Learn from his example, my new champion. Serve me faithfully, and you will be richly rewarded."

Ketar's stormy eyes narrowed. "Let's get one thing straight, asshole. I am not, nor will I _ever_ be your champion. You already used one Dragonborn for your own ends, and I will not allow myself the indignity of ever becoming _that_." He pointed at Miraak's corpse for emphasis, which was now moaning with the unlife brought about by Ketar's Shout.

"Miraak's choices were his own. He led himself down that path."

"And because of that, you think yourself blameless?" He snarled. "Do not try to _bullshit_ me, Mora. You mean to tell me that the Daedric Prince of knowledge and fate couldn't see the outcome of giving Miraak that power? That you didn't see all the betrayal, the madness, the murder the _moment_ he knelt at your feet?" His head shook slowly. "No, you knew. You knew and you didn't care, as long as it served your ends, and that makes you just as guilty for every drop of blood. It is _over_." Ketar marched toward the mass of eyes and tentacles with threatening steps, voice rising in intensity with every word. "I never want to see or hear from you again.

"You will not contact me, trying to peddle any more of your bullshit, and you will _never_ —" he jabbed a finger at the moaning corpse, "—make another Miraak, because if you do…" He shifted his finger to point at Hermaeus Mora, snarling out his final declaration. "Mark my words, I will be coming for _you_ — _next_." With a final glare at the Daedric Lord, he turned toward the Black Book and lifted his eyes to the sky. " _Relonikiv_!"

His Voice boomed across the landscape of Apocrypha, seconds passing before a green-winged dragon came into view and landed on a stone arch just above him.

"You called, _thuri_ ," said the dragon.

Ketar nodded slightly, stretching out his right hand to the book and activating its magic to form a portal. "Let's go home."

With a flash of green light, he and the dragon left Apocrypha and a blankly staring Hermaeus Mora behind. The Daedra stared at the space just occupied by Ketar for a good long time before humming quietly to himself and uttering a single phrase.

"What a curious mortal."

…

When the Temple of Miraak flared with light for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, Serana was just about ready to scream. But when she saw him stride out, one hand on the neck of a calm dragon, her heart sang with pure joy. Before she knew it, tears were sliding down her face, and she was charging up the stairs to meet him. After banishing most of Miraak's army, Solstheim's allied forces had gathered together to mop up the remains of the dominated mortals and dragons, and had managed to corral them into a relatively contained space. Then, just a few minutes before Ketar appeared, they all just stopped moving.

A few moments had passed before the telltale signs of post-compulsion appeared, and the controlled denizens of Miraak's army had fallen into a cacophony of reactions ranging from anger and self-frustration to regret and outright weeping. That last one hadn't been limited to the mortals. The most predominant reaction, overall, was confusion, and once they had been deemed safe enough to approach, the liberated dragons and mortals had welcomed any and all medical help they could get. Dolotlah and her healing Shout had made quite the difference in the aftermath, and as Serana embraced her returned husband, that continued to be the case.

After a while, they slowly pulled apart, eyes only for each other for that one moment. A small smile tugged at Ketar's lips as he stroked a blood-encrusted glove over her cheek.

"You were right," he exhaled, barely above a whisper.

Serana frowned a little in confusion. "About?"

He smiled wider. "Today. All of it. It happened just like you said."

She grinned and pressed her forehead against his. "This is the one time where I have absolutely no qualms about saying I told you so."

He chuckled, his breath ghosting over her lips. "This is the one time I don't mind hearing it."

Gently, tenderly, their lips met in a loving embrace as they held each other close, a heady sensation stealing over Serana until they broke apart. She sighed in tandem relief and satisfaction as she leaned her head against his chest.

"Come on," he said softly, "I have one last thing to do today."

…

Just a few minutes later, Ketar rallied every single dragon on the field, allied and controlled, and paced across their front line, the black-scaled form of Sahrotaar sitting in the very center.

"You…are free."

They blinked and stared at him blankly as he halted and faced them fully.

"You're free. Free to make your own decisions, to forge your own path in life. As you always should've been." Ketar took a deep breath, projecting his voice over the crowd as best he could. "I only ask that you leave your aggressive ways behind from here on out and treat any mortals you come across as friend, not foe or subject. Dragons were never meant to rule over man or Elvenkind, and it is because of this that they all rebelled against you. So long as you conduct yourselves honorably in the future, you will have no quarrel from me." He waved to the open sky. "You're free to go."

In a somewhat staggered manner, they all exchanged looks with each other and tentatively made to leave by spacing out to get room for takeoff.

"Not you," Ketar said sharply, his voice directed squarely at Sahrotaar.

Despite the specificity of his distinction, every dragon stopped in their tracks and watched the exchange.

Sahrotaar stared back at him and snorted derisively. "Why? Because I was Miraak's primary mount and lieutenant?"

"No," Ketar countered with a grim smile. "Because I know who and what you were even _before_ he corrupted your will. I need to know that you won't go back to your old ways, because if you do and people die because I let you go, that blood is on my head." His arms crossed. "So convince me."

The dragon blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Convince me that you won't regress, that you won't return to being an overlord."

Sahrotaar glared at him resentfully for just a moment before his serpentine countenance sagged with immeasurable pain and regret. "Among the…many purposes Miraak had for dominating my mind…there was one that he emphasized above all others, at least in the beginning. He wanted me to experience the life of a servant, the way he and the other humans had. He wanted me to feel their pain, and learn the true curse of an overbearing taskmaster." His jaw tightened visibly. "That was the one lesson that, despite myself, managed to sink in over the countless ages I was forced to serve him. Because of Miraak, I tasted the full bitterness of oppression…" his face twitched in sadness, "and have lost my appetite for it."

Ketar's eyes darted over his face for a few seconds before his own features softened, and he let out a small sigh. "Good enough for me. You're free to go, _zeymah_. Use that pain to better yourself in the future. That is my final command." He looked to the others as well. "And that goes for all of you. I want you to lead your own lives and make better choices, because Akatosh created you all with a destiny far greater than this _madness_." His lips pursed tightly. "To that end, I would ask all of you for one last favor. This is entirely your decision, but if you would do me the honor…in two weeks' time, I would like to see all of you at the Throat of the World.

"There is a war coming in Skyrim, a foolish, pointless civil war being driven by a sadistic third party." His blue eyes hardened. "I aim to stop it, but as with Miraak, I cannot do so without your help. The dragon race was once meant to safeguard humanity and all of Nirn against the evils that threaten them, to be…revered and respected rather than hated and feared." He nodded slowly, voice resolute. "I would have that legacy restored. If you choose to go your own way, that's fine, I applaud it. But I would at least like to have your answer two weeks from now.

"I won't ask for your word. You've had enough required of you for a good, long time. Instead, I extend my trust to each and every one of you; a little faith that, in the end…you'll make the right decision." Ketar smiled warmly and waved to his dragon brothers and sisters. "Until then, go with the blessings of our father, and let your wings carry you to warmer shores."

With a final roar of goodbye, the dragons took to the skies and left the island of Solstheim to nurse their wounds and consider their futures. Ketar watched them go with his fingers laced with Serana's. All around them sat the smoldering remains of the Battle of Solstheim, a conflict that would one day be every bit as legendary as the duel between Miraak and Vahlok, whose noble spirit still watched over the island to that day.

But beyond that, Ketar saw the familiar faces of friends and allies, of a banged-up Brynjolf and Lydia and the snoozing young Blades who were inseparable even in slumber. Dolotlah and Odahviing, who was trying to learn her healing Shout in order to make himself of greater use to the Dragonborn. Valerica and Kodlak, who was pale and wounded, but alive. Nazir and Babette, cleaning their weapons and exchanging stories of glorious battle with the nearby Companions. Esbern and Delphine, the old Blades who had allied with those they had believed their greatest foes to bring about an even greater victory.

Zhanikan and Bard, the two stoic warriors from another shore, legends in their own right, their forms encircled by the body of a _very_ affectionate blue dragon with four paws instead of just two. Tolfdir and the College, whose magic had, by all accounts, won the day. Knight-Paladin Gelebor, who was even paler than usual and half-unconscious, but smiling at the sky as he laid on his stretcher. Frea and her people, the Skaal, whose ancient, heroic predecessor had first defied Miraak's treachery.

Serana Volkihar Dov, his beautiful, incomparably strong wife; who had stood by him through thick, thin, and every agonizing point between. Who had told him that everything would be all right, and driven him to be a better person in every way since the day they'd met. Ketar looked around at his friends, the family he'd never had, yet found and built for himself all the same, and smiled with gentle warmth.

And then promptly collapsed into Serana's arms.

His startled wife hefted him up and tucked his head against her chest as she looked him over in concern. "Kay…Kay?"

His haggard, exhausted features looked up at her with pleading blue eyes. "Can we go home now?"

Her sunset-colored eyes blinked at him once before she began chuckling and lifted him off the ground while cradling his body to hers. "Yeah, love…let's go home."

* * *

AN: All right, so…some apologies are in order. This took way too long to complete, especially by my standards, but finals week happened, and I got completely screwed over by my school schedule. Soooo…you get a consecutive double-release of over 30K words. Contrary to what some might think, I was _not_ waiting for Christmas. I just didn't have the time or strength to sit down and bang out the rest of this arc.

Now that that's settled, a few notes on these two chapters. This was an EXTREMELY difficult arc to write, mainly because I've never cast a battle from this many viewpoints before, and I really wanted to do each of the characters and their opponents justice. I hope I accomplished that. Man…so much happened, though most of it was just battle rigging, so I'm really not sure if I should comment on the content of this arc at all.

I will say that there will probably be two more chapters to this story, one to settle a few loose ends, and then the epilogue. Maybe I'll be able to do it all in one long chapter. I don't know. We'll see. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this climactic confrontation and are looking forward to the final chapters of the story.

Drake out.

Musical inspirations:

Dragon's Dogma - Fateful Decision: start-0:25—Ketar rises/Dragon Aspect/tidal waves, 0:25-2:10—Serana and Odahviing vs. Sahrotaar, 2:10-end—" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"/Bard and Sonaanulspan/Serana flies off

300 – Fever Dream: Agmaer and Brelyna vs. Dukaan/Dolotlah's intervention/finishing Dukaan; To Victory: pacing in circles/Ketar vs. Miraak/portal

Dragon Age: Inquisition – Calling the Inquisition: start-0:50—palm to fist/Zhanikan destroys the Lurker/falling back, 0:50-1:10—the array/magicka flow/"Begin!", 1:10-end—the mantras of Auri-El/Knight-Paladin rises/ _"—begone!"_

The Incredible Hulk – Are They Dead?: start-0:49—Ketar's exhaustion/Miraak's frustration/no regrets, 0:49-1:06—Ketar stabbed/Miraak's promise, 1:06-1:39—rage/knife fight/grappling, 1:39-1:50—knife-throw/face-off, 1:50-2:13—Dragon Aspect/doing the impossible/dance of death/midair exchange, 2:13-end—Whirlwind Sprint/final exchange/turn and stab

 _Dovahzul_ translations:

"Sonaanulspaan" – Bard's Eternal Shield, name of Bard's dragon mount

" _mal Dovahkiin_ " – little Dragonborn


	22. The Eltheric Alliance, Part I

The echoes of Serana's steps carried across the dark stone of High Hrothgar as she made her way past one room after the next. If the slight unease in the various Greybeards she passed was any indication, it had been some time since so many had occupied the halls of their mountain sanctuary for so long. After the Battle of Solstheim, those wounded in the fight had pretty much gone in two directions. The natives and immigrants of the island had remained in the care of the Dunmer and Skaal, and the dragon riders that had arrived with Ketar returned to their point of origin on their mounts.

Upon arrival, it became apparent that some of their injuries were much worse than others, and at Ketar's behest and Paarthurnax's order, the Greybeards had agreed to house them while they recovered. They'd ridden back to High Hrothgar immediately after the battle, and as such, Serana hadn't been able to truly see the extent of Ketar's injuries, though he hadn't protested much in transit. Needless to say, when she and Arngeir had finally peeled off his armor, revealing an alarming mess of yellow and purple bruising, along with dozens of micro-cuts; she had been…unhappy, to say the least.

It took two hours of relentless spellcasting and Dolotlah's Voice just to restore all the fractures he'd sustained, and even so, he remained unconscious for hours after the fact. Arngeir had promptly informed Serana that something similar had happened in the aftermath of his first duel with Alduin. Apparently, fighting a fellow dragon did strange things to his body's regenerative properties. Alduin's Visage was probably the main reason he wasn't in even worse shape. Now that he'd been separated from it, they would have to wait and allow his body to recover the old-fashioned way.

It had been almost a week since then, and Ketar had been in and out of consciousness a number of times since, long enough for her and the others to keep him apprised of the goings-on around Skyrim and Solstheim. Frea had officially been named the new Skaal shaman after her father recovered and realized that she had already matured more than enough to take his place. She had been reluctant at first, but after Storn reassured her that he would walk her through every step of her journey, she'd agreed wholeheartedly. That Miraak was defeated would only delay Herma-Mora's advances, or so she claimed. Despite their differences in the past, Serana wished her all the luck in the world.

On the home front, things had taken a turn for the worse. In the aftermath of Alduin's defeat, dragon attacks across Skyrim had all but ceased, and eventually, both sides had noticed. As a result, the Stormcloaks and Imperials were once again gearing up for war, and though open conflict hadn't yet broken out, everyone knew it was just a matter of time. That, more than anything else, had set Ketar in a _really_ bad mood. Lord Zhanikan had been present at the time, and the two had spoken at length in quiet tones that made it very clear it was a private conversation. Serana had learned her lesson about eavesdropping on them, and left them to it.

Instead, she'd found Bard working his adamantium sword over with a whetstone and sat next to him to do the same with her weapons. Though she'd never technically been a soldier, Serana had learned to value the calm monotony of such tasks in calming one's mind. With her home under threat from what was sure to be a disastrous civil war, those kinds of distractions were most welcome. Since their partners were in much better physical shape, Brynjolf, Lydia, Agmaer, and Brelyna had found…other ways to distract themselves. And her mother…well, _that_ was a whole other mess that had started right after the battle's end…

…

 _Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas were the first Companions to rush to the Harbinger as soon as he and Valerica came into sight of their makeshift camp. The vampire matron was gingerly cradling his bloodied form in her arms, an expression of pure misery etched into her features. She crouched and laid him down into the snow, gently holding his head in her lap._

 _"Harbinger!" Aela shouted in alarm._

 _"Hang on, old man," said Farkas, the otherwise-stoic Nord looking more than a bit shaken as he knelt at his mentor's side._

 _Vilkas looked to Valerica when it became apparent Kodlak was struggling for words. "What happened?"_

 _She grimaced and snarled in self-loathing. "I left myself vulnerable. He stepped in to save me."_

 _"Wasn't—her fault," choked Kodlak._

 _"Stop talking," she ordered tersely._

 _"Already…too late."_

 _Valerica glared at him with something between fury and hurt. "What did I just say?" she hissed between clenched teeth._

 _He smiled weakly and reached up to touch her chin. "So…am I one?"_

 _The vampire blinked. "What?"_

 _"You said…only some…could pull off a beard like mine. Am I one?"_

 _Her eyes widened slightly, features trembling with a mix of emotions she seemed to be fighting. A slow gulp passed through her throat as she exhaled a quiet, "Yes. Without question."_

 _Kodlak smiled wider, blinking too slowly to be a good sign. "Thank you."_

 _Valerica's face twitched, her bottom lip shaking as the present Companions watched their exchange with hitched breath._

 _He reached out and took Aela's hand. "Take…take care of the others, lass. Promise me."_

 _The hardened woman gulped and nodded stiffly, eyes red with unshed tears. "I will."_

 _Kodlak nodded slowly, giving each of his students a fond look as his breathing shallowed._

 _"No."_

 _They all blinked and shifted their gazes to Valerica, who was glaring at the old man._

 _"You don't get to do that—pull some tear-jerking nonsense and punch out on_ me _, will you? I think not." Despite her words, the pain was apparent in her tone._

 _Kodlak chuckled weakly. "Some things can't be fought, milady."_

 _"But some_ can _be conquered." Valerica tugged her left glove off with her teeth, exposing the pale skin of her wrist. "And I know I can save you."_

 _Aela's eyes widened in realization. "You want to turn him."_

 _She nodded firmly. "My pure blood will wipe out his wolf blood and increase his body's regeneration a dozen fold. Unless his heart is damaged or head removed, he_ will _survive."_

 _Vilkas shot her a glare. "Kodlak wants to give up his lycanthropy, but you would have him trade one curse for another?"_

 _She glared right back. "_ Yes _! Unlike your mongrel blood,_ my _curse is easily cured. And it_ will _save him." Her gaze turned back to Kodlak, who was slipping away by the second. "Please…" her eyes and tone turned to abject pleading, "please let me do this for you."_

 _"Mother—"_

 _Valerica's gaze snapped to Serana, who'd seen and overheard what was happening._

 _"—are you sure about this? I mean…giving him your blood is…"_

 _The matron stared up at her daughter with a desperate gaze. "Serana…I_ have _to do this."_

 _Sera smiled and nodded._

 _Valerica turned back to Kodlak, searching his eyes and face for any sign of consent. "Please, Whitemane." Her jaw clenched. "Don't make me watch you go. I don't…I can't—"_

 _His blood-caked fingers pressed against her lips to shut her up, and with a small smile, he gave an ever-so-slight nod._

 _Sighing in relief, Valerica brought her exposed wrist up to her mouth and dug her fangs into the artery. Blood dripped from her wrist as she brought it to Kodlak's lips. The Companions and the vampire watched as the oldest and wisest among them remained locked together for some time. Heard his hiss of pain as the wound in his chest rapidly sealed shut. Saw the slow blink as his eyes shifted from silver to glowing, sunset orange._

…

Serana smiled a little at the memory. Over a thousand years of existence, and Valerica had never once offered her blood to a mortal. To do so now, and to a _werewolf_ , no less…well, she held out hope for them, despite how irritated the Harbinger was quickly getting with his overprotective sire. Serana never wanted to see Valerica as despairingly lonely as she'd been in Sarothril's hideout again.

But enough of that. Today, her job was to help Ketar start walking again and make sure he wasn't hiding any persisting injuries. At present, the man himself (who was getting quite restless now that he'd had time to convalesce) was lying down in his allotted room with a stack of books and missives on various topics, or so she'd been told. Whether or not he was actually taking it easy was another matter entirely. When she pushed aside the curtain that sealed the room, she was pleasantly surprised to see that he was only sitting up in bed, eyes roving over a letter with—was that the Imperial seal?

Serana glanced from him to the paper and back a few times before speaking. "Hey."

Ketar blinked and smiled up at her. "Hey you." He waved her over and leaned up to kiss her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good, great. Ready to get back to work."

She gave him a look.

He held his hands up in innocence. "What? I am. Really, Sera, I'm more than recovered enough for this."

"For _this_ , yes," she replied, indicating the papers strewn about him. She frowned in confusion a second later. "Um…what _is_ this?"

Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "This…is how we're going to stop the civil war. I hope." He sighed hard. "I just…need to iron out some last details." He scanned the letter in his grip a few more times, blinking in a double-take. Suddenly, his lips stretched into a grin. "Well I'll be damned…"

Serana frowned at the paper as she read it over his shoulder. "Who's Marius?"

Ketar cleared his throat as he folded the letter up and returned it to its envelope. "Marius…is an old, _old_ friend of mine. All the way from childhood." He grunted as he set the letter aside and slowly pushed himself upright, Serana helping him up. "Every so often, he used to come to Cloud Ruler Temple and study with me. I always knew he was nobility, but the full significance of his family name didn't occur to me until a few months ago."

She looped an arm around his waist as he did the same with her shoulders. "Why's that?"

He smirked. "I get the feeling you'll see soon enough. However, there's something we have to take care of before that." He groaned. "Actually…there's a _lot_ that needs taking care of first." A hard sigh passed his lips. "And it's likely to be…more than marginally painful."

Serana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Honey, what are you up to?"

Ketar looked back at her apologetically. "I have a promise to keep, love, and now that I've got the final piece, I've been ironing out the last details. I know what I have to do to seal our success." His head shook slowly. "You're not gonna like it."

"…"

"Sera?"

"Just…tell me everything, okay?"

"Without question. After all, I'm gonna need your help to pull it off."

"Ugh…I just _know_ I'm gonna regret this."

…

"This is crazy, lad. I hope you know that."

Ketar shot Brynjolf a scalding look. "I made a promise, Bryn. We all did. This is how we fulfill that promise."

"Oh, I'm not denying it, but you're still off your rocker."

His eyes rolled and head shook as he turned back to Serana and smiled reassuringly. She wasn't smiling back, but nervously chewing her lower lip.

"It's gonna be okay," he said softly, cupping her face.

She sighed hard and pressed her forehead to his. "I know, I know. I just…if they don't agree—"

"They can't do anything to me that I can't handle."

"I know, but—"

"Sera. Pain is an old friend." He kissed her gently, lingeringly. "I'll be back before you know it. We both will."

"You _better_ ," Serana warned, "or I'll be coming in after you."

"Seconded," said Lydia.

"Thirded," added Brynjolf.

Ketar groaned and rolled his eyes. "Would you all stop worrying so much? Sheesh." Still, as he turned to the glowing portal of the Soul Cairn, he too felt more than a little apprehension. "Okay…here we go."

And with that, he stepped into the breach.

…

Lydia stared into the glowing portal for a while, absently running her right thumb over the hand currently holding hers. She and Brynjolf had come…close to death. Colette, the College healer they'd been brought to when they were knocked out, had refused to go into details, but by all indications of the new scars they both bore, they'd been in _much_ worse shape when Serana dropped them off. Said scars weren't extensive by any stretch, but the ones that _were_ visible were still nasty enough to make Lydia wonder exactly what would've happened if Serana had gotten there just a few minutes later.

Still, better to carry some scars and live to tell about them…even if it was yet another point of insecurity for her around Bryn. Of all the places imaginable, the most noticeable one just had to be right in the middle of her chest. The one byproduct she never foresaw was the amount of extra attention Brynjolf lavished on that spot once he'd seen it—with his lips. Just thinking about it now made her face heat up. That man…he made her feel like a teenager again, and it was irritating, to be honest, but at the same time…

Well, it was downright exhilarating to finally be with someone she saw an actual future with.

Speaking of their near-death experience, their rescuer had finally explained himself and his means of arrival once he was well enough to engage in conversation. The Dunmer and Snow Elves had apparently been colleagues once, when it came to magic. Throughout the Mages Guilds of Morrowind, there were various teleportation pads used for rapid transit. Apparently, the Dark Elves had learned that particular brand of spellcraft from the Snow Elves, and as such, there were certain pads that linked their two provinces, even across the sea. One such pad connected Skyrim to an ancient Dunmer structure in Solstheim. With the way the wayshrines at the Chantry of Auri-El were set up, she could believe it.

At any rate, Gelebor had had to hunt down the right pad in Falmer ruins in the east of Skyrim, which was what had taken him so long; most had been blocked off by avalanches or plundered by treasure hunters. Well, that and he hadn't wanted to make a scene at the initial takeoff from the Throat of the World. Ketar had been present for that particular excuse, and made a point of hitting him in the face with a crumpled paper. Gelebor chuckled at that before bidding them farewell and beginning the return trip to the Chantry.

Lydia frowned as she remembered the reason for their presence in Valerica's laboratory. The moment Ketar had told Serana his plan, she'd insisted on bringing them and her mother along as backup, just in case things with the Ideal Masters went awry. Which they almost undoubtedly would. Lydia just hoped it wouldn't be anything beyond what they could handle at the moment. One world-ending crisis was more than enough for the space of one week.

…

Entering the Soul Cairn for the third time was just as disorienting as the last two, but Ketar managed to stick the landing this time by going in with his legs staggered. As a result, he hit a three-point landing, knee and palm first to stabilize his weight. That position gave him just the right amount of leverage to haul himself upright without assistance, unlike his past two visits. He'd insisted on coming alone for a number of reasons, not the least of which keeping his loved ones out of harm's way. The other was…well…Serana _had_ to stay out of the Soul Cairn, for the same reason he'd asked for her help.

As he proceeded down the steps that led further into the cursed realm, a part of him began to rethink that particular decision, especially when dozens of trapped souls began to line either side of the road. Their glowing orbs coalesced into silhouettes of their mortal bodies, and every single one of them stared at him as he proceeded down the path. Exhaling slowly, Ketar trudged on, his cloak and Guildmaster armor rustling with every step while an instinctive tether in the back of his head led him deeper and deeper in. Bonemen and mistmen joined the watching souls, they too remaining out of his path, a fact he was grateful for.

He'd just narrowly escaped death a few days earlier. He had no intentions of having a repeat incident anytime soon.

A few minutes later, the tether in his head drew to a close, and he came to a stop in a massive, semicircular courtyard with five of the glowing crystals he'd seen his first time there—the ones that sucked out your soul if you got too close. Ketar's jaw tightened briefly as he looked between them, drawing a deep, calming breath before speaking.

"I've come to offer you a deal."

No answer.

"One of your Keepers, Durnehviir, is a close friend of mine. I would like to bargain for his release from your service."

Silence.

Ketar blinked and huffed in impatience. "I haven't come empty-handed. I know better than that, and if you would be willing to at least speak to me, I'm sure we could come to an arrangement."

The crystals before him flared with light for a moment before an answer carried from within their facets, like a torrent of chanting voices. "Twice you have come here. Twice you have taken from us without provocation."

Ketar's eyes narrowed. "Valerica and her Elder Scroll were never yours to begin with. You tricked her into coming here, into a thousand years as your prisoner. I only came to set things right."

A low hiss came from the crystals.

His lips pursed tightly. "And I've come to do the same once more, though this time, I _will_ give you something. Something far more valuable to you than Durnehviir himself."

"…we are listening."

Ketar stretched his hands out in front of him and opened the rift, his right hand plunging into the light of the sundial and pulling out a glowing violet gem patterned after a starburst. "A filled Black Star, containing the soul of the First Dragonborn."

The crystals shuddered in what he interpreted as excitement.

Ketar allowed himself a small smile of triumph. "A single dragon is powerful, to be sure, but a Dragonborn who has absorbed dozens of souls is far more valuable, wouldn't you agree? All that knowledge…all that power…" he waved the gem around like a carrot, "more than enough to release a single dragon Keeper, wouldn't you agree?" He took a breath as he returned the gem to the rift. "Release Durnehviir from your service, and I will gift you the soul of a Dragonborn, to do with as you see fit."

As they hummed and considered their response, Ketar's mind drifted back to the day he'd first woken up after the battle, the first time he'd opened the rift to inspect his bargaining chip.

…

 _When his wife and Arngeir had left, and no one was looking, Ketar stretched out his hands and laced his fingers together in the same familiar pattern. The warm sundial of the rift wheeled open, and he mentally focused on recalling the Black Star for a split-second before his vision was consumed with blinding light. A few blinks later, and it quickly became apparent why._

 _"Father!" he called out, half irritated. "If I'm here too long, my wife is going to be very cross with you."_

 _Akatosh's draconic form rapidly materialized from the Aether. "Son, you should know better by now. Time functions differently here, especially when it's just the two of us."_

 _Ketar frowned, both at his appearance (he noticed for the first time that Akatosh's draconic avatar was four-legged, like Bard's dragon) and clipped tone. "So why the bigger form? And why did you pull me into the rift? You've never done that before…not even to Miraak."_

 _Akatosh frowned deeply. "That is precisely why I summoned you here. I know what you have planned for his soul, and while I feel for your friend, this is not a plan I can stand behind."_

 _He blinked hard. "I'm sorry?"_

 _"Miraak may have gone astray, may have hurt a great many people—"_

 _"No," Ketar interrupted sharply, "no, not may have. He did. That's a simple fact."_

 _Akatosh tensed. "Yes, I understand, but he is still my so—"_

 _"_ No _." Kay's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don't get to say that."_

 _The regal dragon blinked slowly, tone near a growl. "Excuse me?"_

 _"You disowned him, father. Right or wrong, you disowned him, and as such—"_

 _"He disobeyed my—"_

 _"—_ as such _, you gave up the right to decide his fate."_

 _"But—"_

 _"No! You gave me a directive to take him down, and after what he did to Serana, his death was all but_ decided _." He exhaled a long, calming breath. "But, for all your anger with him, after so many years of separation and regret…I know that a part of you still saw him as family." He winced. "I guess, in a way, I saw this intervention coming. However, taking his soul was the only way to save him."_

 _"_ Save _him? Your intention is to barter him to the Ideal Masters."_

 _"Yes, but his soul is far too valuable to consume outright. At worst, he'll be imprisoned. At best, he'll become one of their Keepers, replace Durnehviir, and fulfill his role as one of their enforcers. That isn't to say he'll be trapped there forever. Perhaps one day, he might give them a better offer, or learn his lesson, and when he does, I'll make sure there's someone to get him out." Ketar's jaw clenched. "Knowing the things I've done, I can't help but believe in second chances. But Miraak cannot be allowed to walk free, not after everything he's destroyed. And besides…the future that now awaits him is_ far _kinder than whatever Mora had planned."_

 _Akatosh grimaced and looked away, a fierce twinge of pain and guilt in his eyes. "His fall…was my fault."_

 _Ketar's face softened. "No."_

 _"It was my failure as a father that drove him to—"_

 _"Father,_ no _. Did you spoil him a bit? Sure. Could you have handled his upbringing better? Absolutely. But ultimately, Miraak made his own decisions. He wasn't willing to let go of what he had, even for a little while, and that decision came back to bite him. It's not your fault."_

 _Akatosh smiled sadly. "I appreciate you saying that."_

 _Ketar's head shook once. "Just telling you the truth." A pronounced sigh passed through his entire body, shoulders sagging a bit. "If I'm being perfectly honest…I've always known that was a sore point with you. Fatherhood. From the moment we first met face-to-face, there was this…aura about you, a look behind your eyes that held the same regret and sadness I'd seen in Valerica." He fixed a tense Akatosh with a direct stare. "You feel the loss of each child so intensely, don't you? Especially when you take the weight of that loss on your shoulders."_

 _Akatosh's draconic form faded slowly, until he was in his humanoid avatar once again. He looked older, more haggard than ever before, and sank into a chair of hard-light as soon as his body solidified. Ketar, still frowning, made his way over to a chair next to him and sat likewise._

 _It was some time before Akatosh spoke again. "People think…that because we are called gods, that we are somehow…above struggle. That we have it so much easier than they do, when the truth is…quite the contrary." He sighed hard. "For those who have given birth to man and Mer, there is no greater honor and responsibility than to mind the existence of their creations. But it is just that: responsibility, and I would be lying if I did not admit how much I sometimes…" he glanced at Ketar, eyes dark and haunted, "envy you your ignorance. To peer across all of time, to see every possible outcome…it is the greatest gift and curse I have ever encountered._

 _"To see all the ways I might've chosen differently, that my children might have, but did not. The losses they suffered and incurred as a result of their decisions, the boundless pain of all life on Nirn…" Akatosh sighed hard. "Son, there is something you must understand moving forward, for a great many reasons. The more power you have, the greater the price that will be exacted of you. I know you know this, from seeing Miraak's memories, but it is still just as true when that power is accumulated the proper way. The stronger you get, the stronger the forces opposing you will become._

 _"There will be days when, despite your best intentions and efforts, you will find yourself outmatched and outmaneuvered. You may be forced to sacrifice more than you can imagine, sometimes…more than you can even stand to think about. But you do it knowing that the pain you feel now is a pain spared someone else."_

 _Ketar frowned deeply. "I'm confused…are you talking about yourself or my future?"_

 _Akatosh snorted derisively. "Please, son. I know better than to tell anyone the details of their own future. This is simply a universal truth that you will find proven time and again the longer you live. You might not experience these situations yourself, by some grand stroke of destiny, but…try not to judge those who have too harshly."_

 _"…why would I? Sounds to me like those choices are a no-brainer, even if there's some substantial pain involved."_

 _The Aedra's countenance darkened. "Hm. You don't yet understand." He sighed hard. "I see." Akatosh took a deep breath. "You will…someday."_

 _Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "Look…you're right. I can't see across time. I don't know what you've lost. I can't even begin to_ imagine _the anguish you've endured over the ages. But I do know this: you are the only father—the only_ parent _—I've ever known, and for as long as I can remember, I've wanted to make you proud of me. You pulled me up when I had nowhere to go, showed me a path that led to greatness through the service of others, and of life. I am…_ so _grateful for everything you've done._

 _"In spite of what you may think about your talents as a father—or the lack thereof…" he reached out to take Akatosh's hand, "I want, just once, to look you in the eye…and not see that same crushing sadness." Ketar smiled. "I want to make you smile, to make you understand that you're the best father I could ever have asked for." His head shook slowly. "It doesn't matter that you think you failed with Miraak and Alduin, because you_ didn't _fail_ me _. And though you can still see all across time, through every split and permutation of the past, you don't have to_ live _there." Ketar smiled sardonically. "Trust me on that one; it took a while for me to learn."_

 _Akatosh smiled back a little._

 _The Dragonborn smirked. "You know, you once told me that, despite all the bitterness and corruption of mortals, you've learned to have faith in them all the same. To hold onto the hope that, when the time comes, they'll make the right decision." He released his father's hand and thumped him on the chest with the back of his fingers. "Well, consider this me giving that faith right back to you, as I have from the very beginning. You forgave Miraak and Alduin, even if you could no longer accept them for the paths they'd chosen. Now, take my advice—" he stood up and placed a hand on the Aedra's shoulder, "—save a little of that forgiveness for yourself."_

 _Akatosh stared up at him for a moment before huffing a small laugh and grinning widely with a shake of his head. He pushed himself upright and gripped Ketar's shoulder firmly, holding his gaze. "Of all the futures…I don't think I ever saw this one coming."_

 _Ketar smirked. "Just reminding you what you taught me. The promises you made, to me and this world. Without you, none of it works. It's like you said: without hope, all you're left with is cynicism, and that's no way to live—or rule. So just keep believing in us, in our shared mission, and whatever mistakes or losses that follow will sort themselves out. After all…those who serve life never walk alone, right?"_

 _At this, Akatosh smiled fully and grasped his forearm. "Right."_

 _Father and son exchanged one last look before releasing each other._

 _"I will always be with you, son."_

 _A smile. "I know, and I'm so thankful for that."_

 _Akatosh waved into the Aether, creating a portal out of the time rift. "Goodbye, Ketar."_

 _"Goodbye, father." He stopped halfway to the portal. "Oh, by the way—who won the bet?"_

 _A blink. "I'm sorry?"_

 _Ketar's eyes rolled. "You and the rest of the Nine—you bet on how long my virginity would last. Who won?"_

 _Akatosh tried in vain to suppress his grin._

 _Ketar smiled and shook his head. "Unbelievable."_

 _"Ketar—you won."_

 _He blinked. "But I didn't wager on—"_

 _"No, I mean…you won. You did it."_

 _"Did…what?"_

 _Akatosh smiled. "You made me smile."_

 _Ketar blinked again, feeling his eyes prick and lips turn against his will. A slow gulp worked past the lump in his throat before he nodded jerkily, voice clipped. "I'm glad."_

 _No more words were exchanged as the Last Dragonborn left his father._

 _No more were needed._

…

An intense rumble snapped Ketar's attention back to the current situation and the answer he was currently awaiting.

"Well?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

The crystals hummed for a few moments before responding. "We find these terms acceptable. The soul of Durnehviir for the soul of a Dragonborn."

Ketar smiled.

"Yours."

His smile immediately dropped, body tensing a split-second before every crystal in the amphitheater flared with light and emitted an arc of violet energy that lanced into his body. A scream was torn from his throat as he collapsed to all fours, searing pain permeating every inch of his form.

"Powerful though this 'first' Dragonborn may be," they said, "that you now have possession of his soul is evidence of your superiority."

Ketar's jaw clenched, teeth gritting together as he fought not to pass out from the pain.

"Durnehviir will be released, our agreement honored, but you will take his place."

Amid the all-consuming agony, Ketar was distantly aware of a portal opening next to him, Durnehviir's rotting form emerging from its depths. The undead dragon's expression shifted to pure horror as soon as he saw what was happening, and he attempted to lunge forward only to stop partway, as if jerked by an invisible leash. It seemed that this close to the Ideal Masters' focal point, his ability to fight their control was all but null.

And yet, for all this, Ketar's excruciated grimace slowly turned to a smile.

About twenty seconds after they'd begun their siphon, the crystals pulsed with light once more, the Masters' collective voices ebbing with alarm. "W-What is this? What is happening?!"

The arcs of energy quickly dissipated, leaving Ketar to shudder and slowly recover his breath. "That…was my failsafe." With a grunt, he shakily pushed himself to a standing position, still out of breath. "After what you did to Durnehviir…and Valerica…did you _really_ think I'd risk a bargain with you without a little…insurance?"

Their reply was nothing less than enraged. "What have you done?!"

Ketar smiled malevolently. "The same thing I did when I first came here. I had my wife split my soul, only this time, instead of giving the other half to you lot, I left it in her safekeeping back on Nirn." He slowly strode toward the crystals. "Without it, you can't claim my entire soul…" he snarled, "which also means you can take _none_ of it."

The crystals remained silent.

Ketar began pacing back and forth. "So, the way I see it, you have two options. You can take my original offer, claim Miraak's soul, and release Durnehviir—" his upper lip twitched, "—or you can keep dicking me around, and I can go back home without giving you a damn thing."

"We could imprison you here, as with Valerica."

He smirked. "Yeah…good luck with that. Even if you were successful—and I assure you, you wouldn't be—all you could do from there is inflict pain. That would take time and resources and generally be a waste of both. Whereas if you take my offer, you'll gain an _extremely_ powerful new ally at your beck and call. If not…" his eyes narrowed, tone furious, "I will spend every waking moment summoning Durnehviir to Tamriel. You think I'm joking? I'm not. You wouldn't be the first self-proclaimed gods I've screwed over this winter, and make no mistake—that _will_ screw you over." His lips turned upward in a predatory smile, head cocked slightly. "How long do you think it'll take the residents of this hell to notice Durnehviir's extended absences?"

Ketar tapped his nose with an index. "Better question: how many of these tormented souls do you think will stay in line when they realize you've lost control of your greatest Keeper? It'll be anarchy, total chaos, whereby your consumption of souls will be _vastly_ disrupted." He splayed his arms out to the sides. "And I'll be back on Nirn, laughing in the safety and comfort of my home." His jaw tightened and eyes narrowed threateningly. "So, do we have a deal, or do you still think it's worth it to oppose me?"

All around the plaza, various undead and servants of the Ideal Masters hissed and shifted in place, waiting for their masters' call. Durnehviir's gaze drifted from Ketar to the crystals and back, a nervous anxiety tensing every muscle in his body. The tense silence dragged on for almost a full minute as Ketar stared the crystals down, a faint pulse of light coming from them when they made their decision.

"Very well."

Ketar raised both eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"We…accept your terms."

"What terms?"

"You _know_ the terms."

"Of course," he replied with a shrug. "But I want to hear you say it."

The crystals hummed and growled for a moment. "The soul of Miraak, for the freedom of Durnehviir."

"He will be free to fly the skies of Tamriel, no longer tethered to you or this place, immortal and restored."

"…yes."

Ketar nodded slowly. "Then the deal is struck. Do it. Give me Durnehviir."

"The soul first."

He jabbed a finger at them angrily. "No-no-no, _you're_ the ones who tried to screw _me_ over. Give me Durnehviir _now_ , or I'm out."

Another low growl came before they hissed their response. "As you wish."

The crystals glowed once more, sending bluish-violet arcs of energy toward Durnehviir's rotted form. Little by little, cord by cord, muscle and scales returned to the dragon's body, Ketar getting to see his true form for the very first time: silvery, ice-blue upper hide, with an underbelly of pure white and a roughly Y-shaped shock of dark grey running from the back of his neck along the arms of his wings. Ketar's jaw dropped partway at the sight.

 _He's…beautiful._

"Our end is complete!"

Ketar's head snapped back to the crystals.

"Give us what you promised!"

He smirked, for a moment toying with the idea of leaving them with nothing, but opened the rift and pulled out the Black Star anyway. "Of course. Unlike you…" he held the gem out, " _my_ word is worth something."

The same arcs of energy from before snapped to the Black Star, pulling Miraak's soul from its depths over the course of a few seconds. When it was done, the crystals flared with light and pulsed madly for a moment before dimming to their usual brightness.

"The bargain is complete," said the Masters, "the exchange finished. Now, begone."

"With pleasure," Ketar snarled. He turned to Durnehviir, features softening as he reached out a hand to the dumbstruck dragon. "Shall we?"

Durnehviir blinked once before nodding and lowering his head.

Ketar climbed onto his neck and gripped his horns for support, smiling the whole time as he glanced back at the crystals. "Oh, one more thing. I'd keep an eye on that one, if I were you." He smirked and looked down at the gem in his hand. "He has some…rebellious tendencies." At their continued silence, he patted the dragon's neck leaned down. "Let's go home."

With a huff of agreement, Durnehviir flapped his wings hard and catapulted them into the sky, mere moments passing before out of nowhere, a massive portal erupted in the air. It was without a single glance back that they passed through, leaving behind the hellish landscape of the Soul Cairn.

…

As the Ideal Masters watched their quarry take off, a man with deathly pale skin and cold black eyes stepped out from behind one of the crystals' pillars. Said crystals pulsed with energy as their voices came forth, agitated and angry.

"Your plan was a failure, necromancer."

The man shrugged as he watched the shrinking figures in the distance. "It was a longshot at best, predicated on the assumption that his emotions would overpower his sense. They did not, and so we are forced to play the long game."

The crystals remained silent.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't start sulking on me; you'll have plenty of chances later. This was just a test run, to feel out what kind of man he is."

"…and what kind _is_ he, Lord Melekith?"

Melekith the Necromancer smiled widely, just enough to show a hint of teeth. "Why…his father's son, of course." He took a deep breath and slid his hands into the pockets of his long, charcoal-black coat. "Only time will tell just how much, especially now that _he's_ back in the picture." He glanced at the crystals. "Ah, but that's beyond your purview and concern. All you have to worry about now is honoring the terms of our arrangement, and you'll have all the souls you could ever want."

A low hum passed through the plaza before the crystals pulsed. "Very well. You will have what you seek."

Melekith smirked and bowed to them briefly. "My thanks." He turned back around to look at the teleporting man and dragon. "Oh yes…time will tell." A cold, malevolent smile curved his lips. "Game on, old friend."

…

Serana stared into the portal for almost ten minutes before something occurred to her, and she turned to her mother in confusion. "Wait, if Ketar's coming back with Durnehviir—assuming the Ideal Masters take the deal—how is a thirty-foot-long dragon going to fit through _that_?" She pointed at the stairway, which was entirely too narrow to hold a dragon, much less the laboratory.

Valerica sighed. "Ketar asked me the same thing before we went to Solstheim and honestly, I don't know; but if I had to guess, I'd say the same way Durnehviir came here when Ketar called for him."

"So…we're hanging their safety on the hopes that they'll be able to create their own portal?"

The matron shrugged. "We don't exactly have the resources to make another, larger one."

Serana frowned deeply, resuming her vigil over the portal. They stayed that way for another minute or two before a loud, explosive whir was heard from outside, by the balcony. The vampires exchanged a look before all four of those present ran out the door to see an ice-blue dragon emerge from a portal of violet energy. On his back was a familiar black-clad form who was grinning from ear to ear. The dragon circled Volkihar tower twice, roaring his elation to high heaven, before descending toward the balcony and clinging to the side of the tower. Ketar slowly climbed off his neck and landed next to Serana, turning back toward the dragon and laughing the whole time.

Serana gaped at the dragon. "He's—wow."

"I know," said Ketar.

"I hardly even _recognize_ him."

He nodded slowly, returning his attention to the dragon.

"This…is…" Durnehviir was at a complete loss for words, though the few words he did manage were laced with emotion. " _Thuri_ , even after our first meeting, I never imagined I would return here but for a few fleeting moments. I owe you my life, my freedom, my soul; and would give all gladly."

Ketar raised a hand and placed it on the restored dragon's snout. "As I told you before: you saved what is most precious and valuable to me in this world. That is not a debt easily repaid. The least I can do is restore the same to you."

The dragon snorted and made his equivalent of a smirk. "Then consider us eternally even."

Ketar laughed.

Durnehviir's gaze drifted from the Dragonborn to the other four present. "I…did not consider what would happen next, beyond my immediate freedom from the Soul Cairn. From what I understand, Odahviing has already pledged himself to your service. I wish to do the same."

Ketar exchanged a look with his wife, who spoke up.

"Okay, but make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. You don't owe us anything, remember?"

The dragon smiled and bowed his head. "I do. And I now know that if I had never met you, this freedom of mine would be entirely without purpose. Therefore, I see little other choice."

Ketar blinked. "You can look for that purpose yourself, instead of hanging all your hopes on a mortal being who will, inevitably, let you down."

Durnehviir arched an eyebrow. "You haven't yet."

He smiled ruefully. "Only because you haven't known me long enough." His smile dropped, eyes hardening. "If you still insist on working with me, it will not be as a servant. I simply won't accept that."

The dragon tilted his head.

Ketar placed a hand on Durnehviir's snout. "If we work together from here on, it will be as friends, as brothers."

His head bowed slightly. "Aye, I can do that."

Ketar smiled widely. "Good." His head cocked. "Though…if I may, there is one thing I would ask you to permit me."

A blink. "Anything."

"A name." Ketar's jaw tightened. "You need a new one."

Serana and the others stared at him.

"Durnehviir is…" his upper lip twitched, "it's _wrong_. It's what the Ideal Masters turned you into, not who you are." His head tilted to one side, a strange look in his eyes. "I think…yes…" A small laugh left his throat. "Yes, that's it."

Lydia crossed her arms. "What's what?"

Ketar drew himself up and squared his shoulders, the same way he had when he'd made Durnehviir his promise. "Your name is no longer Durnehviir; that's a slave's name. Henceforth, you shall be called _Drog-Stin-Lok_."

The dragon stared at him as the Dragonborn's Voice washed over his renewed body. His jaw dropped open and silver eyes widened, glistening strangely. When he spoke a while later, his voice was outright trembling.

" _Thur—zeymah_ …you honor me."

Ketar smiled and ran a hand over one of the dragon's horns. "That's what family does. Now—" he nodded at the horizon, "—go. Enjoy some of those free skies. You've earned it. I'll let you know when I need your help."

The newly christened dragon bowed his head, giving the others a parting roar as he launched himself from the tower. As Drogstinlok slowly vanished into the day's fading light, Lydia sidled up next to Ketar and frowned a little in thought.

"I don't get it," she said.

Ketar blinked and glanced at her. "Get what?"

"Why'd he get so emotional about a name?"

Serana turned to her. "To dragons, their names are meant to encapsulate who they are. They represent their _Thu'um_ , their soul, if you will."

Brynjolf came up behind Lydia and looped his arms around her midsection. "What did his mean?"

Serana looked to Ketar. "Yeah, what did it mean? I only caught, like, a word of that. Something about the sky?"

Ketar stared into the horizon, where the silvery form of his friend grew smaller and smaller. "Under the Ideal Masters, he lost his true name to the ravages of time and despair. He became Durnehviir, cursed to never die." His head shook slowly. "But he's free now, free to live out the rest of time on his terms. Thus, I named him Drogstinlok." He smiled wider. "Lord of the free skies."

…

"So, what now?"

Ketar kept staring into the crackling fireplace as he reclined in his seat, a deep frown on his face. "Do you know…what Zhan and I discussed, after I woke up properly?"

Lydia frowned and crossed her arms. "Not really. None of us were present for that conversation."

Serana hummed. "Eh, well…I might've overheard some of it…accidentally."

Ketar smirked. "Well, now would probably be a good time to fill you in on the rest, especially seeing as how I'll need all of your help to make it happen."

"Make _what_ happen, lad?" asked Brynjolf.

A hard sigh left Ketar's throat as he climbed out of his chair. "A lasting peace, in Skyrim and beyond."

Everyone in the room exchanged looks.

Serana stepped forward first. "How exactly?"

He just grinned.

…

 _"Open wide."_

 _"Aaaaaahhm."_

 _Ketar grinned while he chewed over his latest spoonful of soup, highly amused at the semi-exasperated look on his wife's face (he'd insisted that she feed him, so as not to "exert" himself). Serana just shook her head at his antics and played along, every so often muttering that she married a man-child._

 _To which he replied, "You knew_ exactly _what you were getting into. Besides, you know you love me for it."_

 _She arched an eyebrow. "Your eccentricities_ are _some of your cuter aspects."_

 _He grinned. "And here I thought that was my face."_

 _Serana pouted and leaned in close, her lips a breath away from his. "Oh, that's definitely up there. Though I'd have to say your cut_ est _part is a…" she smirked devilishly, "bit lower."_

 _Ketar burned up a bit, clearing his throat hard and leaning in even closer, unwilling to back down. "So that's how it is?"_

 _She held up a spoonful of soup. "Why do you think I agreed to feed you? Gotta keep this national treasure healthy." She patted his leg._

 _His eyes rolled. "That's it then? You're using me for my body?"_

 _"Yup." Serana set the bowl down and leaned over him, her hands tracing the outline of his torso. "Because this strong, sexy body perfectly reflects what's in here." She pressed her index into his chest, where his heart was. "And there is nothing I want more than to make love to that over…and over…and over."_

 _Ketar gulped hard, staring at her with wide eyes._

 _Serana grinned, all teeth._

 _A series of hard knocks at the doorframe on the other side of the room's curtain diverted their attention._

 _"Excuse me," called a familiar voice, "Ketar, do you have a moment?"_

 _He blinked and coughed hard, blushing furiously. "Of course, Lord Zhanikan. Come in."_

 _Serana smirked and traced her index over his lips before pecking his cheek. "I'll be back to take care of you properly, after you boys are finished here." She dragged her finger across his jaw as she stood up and sauntered toward the exit, hips swaying._

 _Ketar's gaze didn't leave her form until she was out of sight._

 _Zhan looked between them with unveiled amusement, slowly shaking his head. "She's a special one, that Serana."_

 _The Dragonborn grinned and leaned his head back on his hands. "You have no idea."_

 _He chuckled and sat next to the younger man's bed. "I thought you'd want to know what was going on out there."_

 _Ketar's smile dropped. "What do you mean?"_

 _Zhan sighed hard. "Well…word's gotten around of the World-Eater's demise, and given that the duration of the armistice was contingent on his destruction…"_

 _"Both sides are gearing up for war."_

 _He nodded grimly._

 _Ketar's jaw clenched as he exhaled hard. "Unbelievable. Actually, no, it isn't. It's entirely predictable. I always knew these idiots' ego was bigger than their sense." He looked to Zhan, meeting his gaze. "You told me, back when we first met, that you were looking for another way. A way to get both sides to stop fighting and focus on the real enemy."_

 _Zhanikan blinked. "So I did."_

 _Ketar's gaze turned pleading. "Then please…_ please _give me some hope."_

 _The king stared at him for a moment or two before his lips stretched into a wide grin. "Son…I can do_ so _much better than that."_

…

In a lot of ways, the weeks that followed reminded Brynjolf of the campaign against Maven Black-Briar. Only, on a much, _much_ larger scale. Ketar and Zhan had come up with a scheme to force both sides of the conflict into a head-to-head confrontation on the plains of Whiterun, without being able to properly engage each other anywhere else. This was accomplished through much the same means as the dismantling of Maven's criminal empire: thievery, deception, and general sabotage against both the Imperial and Stormcloak armies whenever they attempted to force their aggression anywhere else. It helped that Lord Zhanikan was employing a sizeable group of contacts, spies, and thieves of his own to assist in these matters, but was a daunting endeavor all the same.

Of course, since Whiterun was Balgruuf's territory and responsibility, Ketar had had to talk him into allowing them to use it as the staging area for their endgame. It helped that they didn't plan on letting either army anywhere near the city itself, and that Balgruuf had remained neutral throughout the entire fiasco. It also helped that every single one of the dragons involved with the Battle of Solstheim complied with his wishes and met him at the Throat of the World at the appointed time. That conversation had been…less than wholly successful, but at the very least, he'd ensured that none of them would a threat to the mortals they'd once subjugated. At best…

"Bryn, you okay?"

His attention snapped to Lydia, and he smiled a bit. "Of course, lass. Just the normal nerves before a job."

She frowned and sidled up next to him, laying her head on his shoulder as she held his hand. "But this isn't a normal job."

He snorted. "No…no it isn't." A frown creased his lips. "If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be battling gods and stopping a war, I'd have kissed you full on the mouth…" a smirk, "right before suggesting that you get your head checked."

Lydia chuckled.

"But…for all the danger, all the trials and pain…" he looked from the fading sunlight on the horizon to his girlfriend's eyes, "I don't regret my choices since then. Not one bit. Not with Ketar—" he held her hand tighter, "—and certainly not with you."

Lydia smiled and nuzzled his shoulder. "I would hope not. Though I have to wonder…why me?"

He sighed. "Ugh, not this again."

"No, I'm serious. Why me? I mean, you could've had any woman you wanted."

"That's—"

"It's _not_ an exaggeration, Bryn, and you know it."

Brynjolf's eyes rolled. "No, it's not."

"So…?"

"It's…it's complicated, all right? I mean, it isn't as if I was completely celibate during the wait. And yes, there were times when I thought about giving up and moving on, but…" a sigh, "every time I tried, there was always something holding me back. Something that kept pulling my eyes back to you." He shrugged. "So, after a while, I gave up on giving up. Resigned myself to being…in your life, without necessarily being the man in your life."

Lydia frowned. "I know the what, Bryn, but why?"

He sighed and reared his head toward the sky. "Because I was already in love with you, ya daft woman. What you did to medicate your pain was only one part of who you were."

She snorted and hugged herself. "It was a pretty big part."

Brynjolf shot her a look. "Oi, lass, told you to stop doing that."

"I know, I know, self-loathing impedes progress, but—"

"But nothing. It's over." He frowned. "In a way, I think you _had_ to go through it, to realize just what you were missing."

She looked up at him shyly. "You?"

Brynjolf grinned cheekily and flicked hair out of her eyes. "Well, yes, but more importantly…connection. A real, deep, emotional connection that goes far beyond the physical."

Lydia looked down and away, her voice small. "I was too scared."

"I know, love." He held her close, her head against his chest. "I know. But learning how to control your fear is a process that lasts a lifetime. I struggle with it myself sometimes." He smiled ruefully. "In a lot of ways, I think that's why I couldn't just tell you outright how I felt. I was too afraid to risk the friendship we did have for something that might not ever have happened." A shrug. "So, in that way, I guess we were both idiots. I buried myself in my work, you buried yourself in…well, you know." He smirked. "Though I guess that last bit works in my favor now."

She arched an eyebrow and looked up at him. "Yeah? How so?"

Brynjolf grinned and leaned down, his lips almost touching hers. "There are few things more attractive than an experienced woman."

At that, Lydia blushed down to her roots, her tongue flicking over parted lips as her breathing got heavy.

"Hey, you two read—ooooh gods, I'm leaving now."

Lydia blinked and cleared her throat, whirling around. "No, Agmaer, it's fine. We're…" she glanced back at Brynjolf, "um…we were just wrapping up our…conversation."

Agmaer arched a disbelieving brow at them. "Is _that_ what that was?"

Brynjolf snorted. "Don't be a cheeky bastard. You'll understand when you're older."

"Excuse me, but I've been in a relationship much longer than you two."

Lydia crossed her arms defensively. "Not _that_ much longer."

He crossed his arms right back. "Considering you've only been together what, two, three weeks? Yeah, comparatively speaking, Lyn and I have been together _way_ longer."

Brynjolf's eyes rolled as he waved dismissively. "Whatever. Are we set to go?"

At that, Agmaer's expression sharpened, and he gave them a sharp nod.

He shrugged and rolled his shoulders, patting Lydia's arm. "Then let's get to it."

…

The plains of Whiterun Hold, usually stained and dotted with clumps of snow, was showing the first signs of spring with the wet dirt and grass of melted snow. That mud and morass somewhat slowed the Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers coming from opposite ends of Skyrim. The issue with battling in Whiterun Hold was that there was very little, if any, cover close to the city. Apart from a half-demolished watchtower in the middle of the plain, the terrain varied little, and gave both ends completely open sight lines. Any battle fought there would not be one of subterfuge—and both sides knew this.

Thus, it was with every fighting man and woman, every scrap of weaponry and cavalry, that General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak mustered their forces at Whiterun. Trebuchets and ballistae lined the far ends of the battlefield as their respective engineers manned the mechanisms. Scout cavalry galloped forth to test the enemy's mettle, both against the first line of infantry and, in some cases, rider to rider. When they returned, Tullius and Ulfric sent their shock troops forth, heavily armored soldiers armed with spears and thick shields. Though vehemently hateful toward the Empire, Ulfric had once been a soldier in their army, and as such adopted many of their tactics.

Behind the first wave came a surge of heavy cavalry that slammed into the shield and spear wall of the Imperial army. Ulfric overplayed his hand, however, as those cavalry quickly found themselves surrounded and outnumbered. Heavily armored though they were, there was only so long they could last. As a result, the Jarl sent a contingent of light infantry into the breach they'd made to reinforce them. The moment after the rescue troops entered the gap, Tullius ordered his men to close ranks and sealed them behind enemy lines. Enraged, Ulfric gathered his personal guard and mounted up, charging toward the enemy's front at full speed.

The shielded legionnaires closed up and pointed every lance they had at Ulfric's approaching horse, not realizing that he'd already accounted for their interference.

" _Fus-Ro-Dah_!"

A blast of Unrelenting Force completely shattered their shield wall in an eight-foot gap, like a boulder smashing through a city gate. That gap allowed him to storm through, steel sword held high and crashing down on everything he could reach. His guards likewise, Galmar Stone-Fist included, came through, their horses forming a protective barrier around Ulfric's back and sides, leaving the Jarl to spear through the Imperial ranks in search of his trapped soldiers. When he found them, their numbers had been severely worn down, the injured dragged behind the infantry lines while the leader of the heavy cavalry desperately tried to organize them into something resembling a battle circle.

Little by little, Ulfric and his soldiers beat back the Imperials, forcing them to fall back with the sheer fury of their strikes. It took a few minutes for him to notice the creeping feeling sliding up his spine, and when he did, his first action was to order his men to throw their shields up. It mitigated a very small portion of the damage incurred when the Imperial trebuchets and ballistae bombarded their position. It was then that Ulfric realized the whole thing had been planned from the start, and with a grit of his teeth had to grudgingly admit Tullius' genius. He'd used the Jarl's love for his men to lure him into a trap and sprung it brilliantly.

He'd just never considered the possibility that Ulfric would survive.

As it happened, Stormcloak managed to claw himself from the wreckage and bodies of his decimated troops, casting the carnage around him one long, mournful look before turning his attention to the encroaching Imperial troops. A glance over the approaching phalanx of Imperial troops revealed a familiar balding figure receiving a plumed steel helmet from his second.

"Tullius!" Ulfric screamed in rage. "Face me!"

The Imperial general smirked and snorted, shouting back over the distance. "You're hardly worthy of dying on _my_ blade, but to soothe your fragile Nordic ego, I suppose I can make an exception." He reached to his hip and slowly drew his sword, a slightly longer _spatha_ , while receiving a shield from his armor-bearer and proceeding beyond the ranks of his legionnaires. "Have at you, traitor!"

On either side of their leaders, Galmar and Legate Rikke, Tullius' second; formed a circle of shields and weapons, half of them looking on while the other half made sure the enemy's soldiers stayed out of it.

"For Skyrim!" Ulfric cried, his sword crashing against Tullius' shield again and again.

The younger, stronger Jarl battered the Imperial general's defenses repeatedly, trying to wear him down, but while Tullius might not have been able to match him in raw power, he was more than capable of withstanding his assault. It was after about half a minute of this that Tullius saw his opening and lunged forward shield-first, smashing the steel device into Ulfric's face and chest. Blood spurted over the Jarl's lips and chin as his nose was broken with the impact, his legs scrambling to withdraw him from the reach of Tullius' blade. He dodged two fast strikes and intercepted a third with his blade, shunting it aside in an attempt to open Tullius' chest to a stab.

The shield came back and deflected Ulfric's sword to the side as the general spun around him and elbowed him in the back. While seemingly stumbling away, Ulfric ducked and pivoted his hips with a swing of his sword, scoring a relatively shallow but critical hit on Tullius' right leg. He'd nearly severed the older man's hamstring, and the pain that he was currently forced to deal with forced him to one knee. Ulfric lashed out with his blade, forcing Tullius to hide behind his shield and blind himself in the process. A vicious thrust-kick to the shield sent the general tumbling back, off-balance and vulnerable to a quick lunge to his side.

Tullius lunged away with what limited mobility he had, reducing Ulfric's attack to a shallow graze along the underside of his rib cage, most of the damage mitigated by his armor. He performed a rough roll and clambered to his feet, sword braced against the side of his shield as he struggled to stay standing. A moment was taken for both to reorient themselves, and just a passing glance at the battle around them reminded them of the carnage brought on by their conflict. A solemn moment of respect for those already fallen—and those who were destined to fall—passed before they refocused on each other.

Ulfric and Tullius paced in a circle, the Jarl holding his sword at his hip, pointed down and away, while Tullius kept his _spatha_ braced on the top of his shield. Suddenly, they both halted, their gazes hard. Tullius' stance widened, his boots sliding through the scorched grass to stabilize his footing. Ulfric's stance deepened, his knees bending as his body coiled up like a spring. Both took a long, bracing breath, pushing past their pain and preparing to fight and die. An instant before they launched into action, a loud, echoing roar pierced the turbulent air of the countryside, drawing their attention away from each other for the briefest of moments.

A moment was enough.

Tullius and Ulfric raised their voices in tandem. " _Dragon_!"

A few seconds later, and they realized their mistake. It wasn't _a_ dragon so much as _dragons_. Like a torrent of pure terror from the annals of legend, one dragon after another rounded the peak of the Throat of the World, the imposing mountain suddenly alive with motion. Mere seconds later, no less than twenty dragons swarmed the skies of Whiterun, flying low over both armies and roaring at the top of their lungs. Ulfric and Tullius exchanged a look, uncertain of their most pressing enemy. And then the air came alive with a hundred Words of Power.

Most commonly, " _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

A dozen dragons scattered across the battlefield blasted the tundra with fire, arcs and lines of flame erupting around and between the two armies, though none striking them directly. They flew off briefly, turning back once at the edges of the conflict, then once more—even as archers on both sides turned their arrows toward the sky—scorched the land. From their limited view on the ground, Ulfric and Tullius couldn't see the full picture, but even what little they glimpsed was enough to show the effect of the creatures' efforts: the Imperial and Stormcloak armies were steadily being pushed apart.

A pronounced roar came from directly above them, the leaders looking up to see two dragons circling them, one red with snowy wings, one icy blue and white. Both descended in a _very_ short period of time, dive-bombing the panicking soldiers and their commanders and taking in deep breaths.

" _Yol-Toor-Shul_!"

" _Fo-Krah-Diin_!"

The two dragons arced mid-descent, their flight patterns creating a spiral of opposing elements that quickly encircled the pair in a wall of flame within, and a wall of magic ice without; separating them from the rest of their forces. It was amid the roars and chaos that Ulfric glimpsed something on the red dragon's neck, a sight that, for all the dragons swarming about them, was more truly terrifying than anything else: a man.

There was a man on the back of that red-scaled nightmare, clad in all black, with a mask and hood completely obscuring his features. Immediately after coming to this realization, Ulfric began noticing the same thing on nearly every other dragon present, some with one, some with two, some none; but _all_ working together. None of them sent the same chill down his spine as the one in black. The one who, with a hand on his dragon's neck, rose to a hover right over the two men and launched himself from its back. On the way down, a flap on his back opened and split to permit the exit of a large, flowing black cloak that somehow slowed his descent and allowed him to alight in the magical ring with barely a puff of disturbed air.

Then his head snapped up, and Ulfric could feel his eyes, even through that midnight-black visor. The figure slowly drew himself up, striding toward them with heavy steps, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. As if his faceless visage wasn't enough, Ulfric began to notice why his armor had set him so on edge: it was comprised entirely of dragon hide and scales. On his chest was an embossed dragon with a heart of sapphire, and on his back was a sword with a larger stone of the same make set in a hilt of ebony.

And then he saw the silver-sapphire ring on his right hand, and the truth hit him like a bull.

"Dov," he exhaled, half in awe, half terror.

The masked Dragonborn's head tilted slightly before shaking in judgment. "You two…so much like children, you are. Throwing a temper tantrum over nothing at all."

Tullius gulped hard, eyes wider than usual. "What's the meaning of this, Dov? Are you siding with the Stormcloaks? Attacking an Imperial force without provocation is an act of war."

A hard, irritated sigh came from his mask. "What part of this looks like an attack? The flames have barely scorched your men, just enough to get them moving."

"Why?" Ulfric demanded.

He could feel Ketar's return glare even through the mask. "Because I'm putting you both in timeout. Whiterun, hell, all of Skyrim is my home, and I'm not about to let you rip it apart with this pointless war when there's another way."

Ulfric snarled. "There _is_ no other way, Dragonborn. The Empire has made that abundantly clear."

"The Empire isn't the problem."

They both stared at him.

Ketar huffed. "Think about it. Why is this war even happening? Ulfric, you hate the Empire because they bowed to the Aldmeri Dominion. They banned the worship of Talos and turned themselves—and you—into a satellite nation feeding the Thalmor resources. And you." He turned his gaze to Tullius. "You actually _agree_ with him, yet for the sake of order, feel duty-bound to stop him and any who follow him." He tapped the front of his mask with an index, where his mouth would've been. "What if I told you there was a way for both of you to get what you want?"

The two exchanged another look before returning their attention to the Dragonborn.

"How?" Ulfric asked.

They could both hear the predatory smile in Ketar's reply. "Simple. We tear up the White-Gold Concordat."

Silence reigned for almost half a minute before Ulfric erupted in laughter and Tullius gaped outright.

"Are you out of your mind?" asked the general. "You don't have the authority to make that call. _I_ don't have the authority to make that call."

"No, you're right, we don't. But the Emperor does."

Traces of incredulous laughter were still in Ulfric's voice when he spoke. "You intend to convince the Emperor to defy the Aldmeri Dominion?" Another laugh. "You'd have better luck trying to kill a _god_!"

Ketar crossed his arms with a pointed look at Ulfric.

The Jarl blinked.

"The Emperor won't be a problem," he assured them. "I've already seen to it. The problem—" he pointed between them, "—is you two. You're so hell-bent on killing each other that you'll tear Skyrim apart before there's even a chance for peace."

"Peace?" Tullius asked in disbelief. "There is no peace in this situation. We either fight the Elves, or we fight _him_." He jerked a thumb at Ulfric.

Ketar's head cocked. "So wouldn't you rather fight your _real_ enemy?"

Both fell silent at that.

"And if all goes as planned, it won't even come to that. I just need you to give us all a chance to sort this out." At their silence, he threw his hands up. "Come on, when have I ever let you down?"

Ulfric stared at the battlefield, at the hordes of fallen soldiers on both sides, before giving his reply. "What did you have in mind?"

He waved at the Throat of the World in the distance. "High Hrothgar, neutral ground. One week from today." His gaze turned to Tullius. "And invite the Thalmor." His predatory glee returned. "After all, they have just as great a stake in this as us."

Ulfric's jaw tightened. "And if we refuse?"

Ketar paused for a long moment before speaking, his voice hard. "Then I merc both of you, have my dragons drive your armies to opposite corners of Skyrim, and start over with your successors—" his hands fisted at his sides, "—with the hope that they're _slightly_ more amenable to reason."

Tullius and Ulfric exchanged a long look before the general snapped his gaze back to Ketar.

"I accept your terms. I'll send an envoy to High Hrothgar in one week's time."

"No. Come yourself." He pointed between them. "Both of you need to be there."

Ulfric nodded. "Agreed. I'll be there."

Ketar looked between them, appraising them for a while, before nodding firmly and turning his gaze toward the sky. " _Od-Ah-Viing_!"

The red and blue dragons descended, breathing over the rings of fire and ice and eliminating both before landing on either side of Ketar.

"I look forward to seeing you both soon," said the Dragonborn as he mounted up on the red dragon's neck.

Ulfric's eyes drifted to the rider of the blue dragon as they prepared to take off, his brows hiking upward when he saw the pale skin and glowing eyes. They went up further when he saw the ebony wedding ring on her left hand—and the matching silvery one on Ketar's. Seconds later, the dragons surged into the air and flew to opposite ends of the battlefield, roaring in tandem. As one, the assembled dragons merged into symmetrical formations that arced back toward the Throat of the World, all disappearing around the edge of its peak a minute later. The two men stared at the sight, jaws halfway to the ground the whole time as their respective seconds rushed to their side.

"General!"

"Jarl Ulfric! What happened?"

"Are you hurt, sir?"

They blinked a few more times before turning to their seconds.

"Legate," Tullius commanded, "order the retreat. Circumstances have changed."

"Galmar," said Ulfric, "tell the men to fall back to Windhelm for further instructions."

The burly Nord eyed him uncertainly. "My Jarl? Are you sure?"

Ulfric's gaze returned to the sky, fixing on the mountain of the Greybeards. "I can't quite explain why, but…I am. More than ever before."

…

When the dragons returned to the Throat of the World, Drogstinlok and Odahviing arced off and carried their riders to the courtyard of High Hrothgar, both dismounting as soon as they touched down. One was steady on their feet, the other shaking like a leaf and stumbling toward a pair of low stone pillars bridged by an iron gate. As soon as he reached them, he braced his hands on either pillar and proceeded to heave on the other side for a good while. Serana came up next to him and put a hand on his back, rubbing it gently as she looked him over with concern.

"Easy, love," Serana cooed in his ear, her arms encircling his back and shoulders. "Easy there."

She kept speaking softly to him, gently running her hand over his back in circles and pressing her forehead against the side of his. A minute later, the spasms seemed to have calmed enough for him to speak.

"You all right?" she asked.

Ketar coughed hard and wiped the back of his hand across his lips with a small nod. His features, paled by nausea, looked back at her as he shifted further into her grip and buried his face in her neck.

She stroked his hair with one hand while the other kept rubbing his back. "You sure?"

He nodded stiffly into her neck, voice muffled. "That was…harder than I expected."

Serana remained quiet, waiting for him to explain as he searched for the words.

"I…the battlefield—even as soon as we got there…" his voice broke, "so many…"

Her jaw clenched and arms tightened around him protectively. "It's not your fault, Kay."

"I know, that's not…" His shoulders jerked, and for a moment he looked like he was going to wretch again. With a deep, calming breath, he managed to rein it in.

Serana frowned and drew back just enough to see how deathly pale he was. "You've seen plenty of death before, but I've never seen you react like this."

Ketar's head shook slightly. "Never…never so many people at once. Usually…" he gulped down another wave of bile, "usually Daedra or monsters comprise half the field…and I make a point of protecting the rest. But that—" his jaw clenched against another spasm, "—that was _wrong_."

Serana pressed her forehead to his, heart aching for him. "I'm so sorry, love." Her thumb rubbed circles into his temple. "I wish I could say you'll never see that again, I do…but in the centuries I lived before meeting you, I cannot _count_ the number of wars that faced this country." Her eyes darkened. "To say nothing of the thousand my father slew to earn our vampirism." She held him close and tucked his head back into the crook of her neck. "The best we can do is fight as hard as we can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

His shoulders shook intermittently as he nodded into her shoulder, his arms tight around her body. When Brynjolf and the rest of Ketar's inner circle descended the mountain, they couldn't help but stop and stare at the husband and wife holding each other in a death grip. All Serana could do was send them a piteous look and keep serving as the physical and emotional anchor for the man with a bleeding heart that she loved more than anything in the world.

* * *

AN: All right, so because I'm impatient and I don't feel like holding back, I've got a nice (not so) little double release for you guys tonight. The whole chapter turned out REALLY long, even for me, so I decided to split it in half in a relatively good letoff point. But you won't have to wait to read the next part. I'll be releasing them in tandem. Not really much to say about this chapter, because I wrote it over the course of the past month, so I'll probably forget half of it anyway. I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

TES IV: Oblivion – Auriel's Ascension: draconic form fades/Akatosh's sorrow/a god's smile/no more words

Dracula Untold - Epilogue: start-2:36—the Ideal Masters' trickery/failsafe/bargain fulfilled/going home, 2:36-end—Melekith appears/"game on"


	23. The Eltheric Alliance, Part II

In the sum total of things, Lord Zhanikan was absolutely indispensable when it came to settling Ketar's affairs. From answering his call to battle via communication amulet to helping to fix Skyrim's civil war, the man was a godsend. And now, with this last piece of political maneuvering, everything was set for the main event at High Hrothgar. Despite the near-certainty of his success, Ketar was _not_ looking forward to said event, especially after the last time all three parties had been in the same room. This time, they wouldn't just be bartering for a peace deal. They would effectively be biting their thumbs at the Aldmeri Dominion and calling it diplomacy.

The only saving grace was that he wouldn't be doing most of the talking. That, he was leaving to their little surprise, of which no one else was aware except him and Zhanikan. He hadn't even told Delphine, who'd insisted on being present as his advisor to the Thalmor. Ketar had agreed on that point wholeheartedly, if only to have her presence to keep them from doing anything too rash. Well, that, and she'd gained a new position and title just a few days prior, right after their little intervention in Whiterun. As had every other rider that day.

…

 _Shortly after Ketar's not-so-little anxiety attack, he and the rest of his inner circle ascended on their dragons to rejoin the other riders on the peak of the mountain. He was still a little pale and lightheaded, but between his Blades training and Dragonborn physiology, he was able to keep it under control. When Odahviing touched down on the Throat of the World, Ketar took a moment to look over his troops, dragon and mortal. When he'd met them here a week earlier, nearly all of the same dragons that had come with him to Solstheim had agreed to join him long-term to ensure the continued peace and security of Skyrim._

 _The mortals, on the other hand, were hand-picked from each organization Ketar was associated with or currently leading. J'zargo, Faralda, Onmund, and Brelyna from Winterhold (he'd deemed Tolfdir more useful long-term in a teaching and academic setting). Vilkas, Farkas, Aela the Huntress, and Ria from the Companions (the now-vampiric Kodlak was out only because Valerica gave Ketar a death glare before he could offer). Nazir and Babette from the Dark Brotherhood (Serana nearly pitched at fit at Babette before Kay promised her full glaring rights). Brynjolf, Vex, Sapphire, and Etienne Rarnis from the Thieves Guild (the latter due to both his hatred of the Thalmor and partial association with the Blades). And of course, Delphine, Agmaer, and Esbern of the Blades (Esbern in particular had insisted on tagging along if only to keep an eye on the dragons)._

 _It was these people and their dragon mounts that stared back at him as he looked them over, eventually pushing himself from Odahviing's neck and approaching the bulk of his troops. Likewise, they dismounted and gathered around to hear and see him better, along with their dragons. Ketar's fists clenched to hide a small tremble in his hands, his body nearly shaking with the same urge to run as the first time he'd spoken to these dragons. A gentle hand on his neck and the cold metal of the ebony ring that sat there gave him just enough of an anchor to keep going and take a deep breath._

 _His mouth opened a moment later. "I'm afraid this was just the first step. Now that we've appealed to both sides, we're going to have to back it up, and that means at the very least sticking with it until we resolve this civil war." He drew away from Serana and started pacing back and forth. "However, beyond that, I would like to offer you all a more…extended role. I won't pressure you into this, and I won't hold it against you if you say no, but…" he frowned, "in my time in Skyrim and her territories, it's become alarmingly clear that I can't protect everyone. There will always be a gap in my thinking, some contingency I haven't thought of, and despite all my power, I am still mortal._

 _"I can't be everywhere at once, and I can't confront every threat out there." He drew himself up and broadened his shoulders. "That said, I believe there's a solution that would not only ensure Skyrim's safety and future, but give many of you a larger purpose to fight for—" he cast a pointed look at the Blades, "—especially those who have struggled to find meaning in the aftermath of great loss." He stopped briefly, then resumed pacing in the opposite direction, "For those among you who aren't aware, I have long been in contact and alliance with a small remnant of Blades, two, to be exact._

 _"After the near-extinction of their organization and culture by the Thalmor, they decided to return to their ancient roots as dragonslayers." Ketar frowned when some of the gathered dragons shot them dubious looks. "However, given the…shift in both power and paradigm among the_ dov _, I've decided that role is no longer sufficient."_

 _Esbern frowned and stepped forward. "Due respect, but I don't believe that's your decision to make."_

 _Ketar shot him a stern look. "Due respect, but your organization swore itself to_ my _service, not the other way around._ You _work for_ me _, Esbern, a fact that you managed to forget in the haze of your blind hatred against the dragon race." His eyes softened a bit. "I've been there, and since you were few in number and posed a relatively small threat, I allowed you to part ways with me. However, given the potential of the coming conflict to spiral far out of control, that is no longer an option. Either you agree to follow the lead of your Dragonborn, or get the hell out."_

 _The old man's jaw clenched as he cast a look at Paarthurnax, who was sitting on his customary wall and overlooking the meeting with thinly veiled interest._

 _Ketar kept going without giving him a chance to respond. "Furthermore, as Dragonborn, your rightful sovereign commander, I am hereby disbanding the Blades in favor of a more…" a smile twitched at the corners of his lips, "appropriate order." His eyes scanned over the entirety of the crowd. "An order that encapsulates our newfound alliance in its entirety, mortal and dragon alike." His eyes fixed onto a forest green dragon near one edge of the crowd. "Ahstkaanaaz, when we first met, you told me that mankind despised your kind, that they would never learn to see you as anything but monsters. I want to give you all the chance to change that."_

 _Kay turned his gaze to the riders. "And I want_ you _to help. Too long have the decisions of madmen and tyrants sealed the fate of dragonkind, relegated you to legends used to scare children into obedience. I want the eyes of man and woman to see your wings, to hear your Voices, and feel hope, not terror. But they will never learn better if something doesn't change. Having you work together—mortal—" he waved at the riders, "—dragon—" he did the same with the wyrms, "—could be the key to that." He laced the fingers of both hands. "This is my hope, my dream for you, brothers and sisters."_

 _His eyes turned back to the riders. "And you, my friends, are the only ones I can trust to do this." He frowned. "I know you all have history, some with darkness or great shame you feel you can never undo or atone for." He smirked. "Trust me…I've been there." He waved at the dragons. "And I guarantee they have as well. Man, Elf, dragon, mortal, immortal—it doesn't matter." He stepped back and placed his left hand on Odahviing's neck while his right interlaced with Serana's. "We're all children of Nirn, and we all call Skyrim home. So help me, and yourselves, by keeping it safe." His grip with both hands tightened. "Together."_

 _Brynjolf was the first to respond after about a minute of stunned silence. "Lad, you know I'm with you no matter what, but…how would that even_ work _? I mean, it's not as if most of us have anything better to do, but that's one hell of an undertaking."_

 _He nodded slowly. "I know it is. And that's why I'm giving you all the option to back out." He took a breath, then nodded to the younger of the senior Blades. "When she brought up the possibility of reestablishing our alliance, I told Delphine that the Blades were no longer numerous or powerful enough to be an army. That they should instead become knights-errant who travel Skyrim in search of trouble, specifically of the draconic sort. I believe you and Skyrim would be served best if that idea were applied on a larger scale. You will live and work in your homes, all across the province, business as usual, but with your ear to the ground; while those on wing actively search for trouble of any sort._

 _"Bandits, Daedra, necromancers, even rogue dragons will fall under your duties." He winced. "Though, that last one, especially so soon after Alduin's death, is of top priority. Your role will be to work together and subdue any hostile dragons you run across, preferably without killing them. If I can convince the rest of the_ dov _to join your ranks, or at the very least cease hostilities against mankind, then so much the better. That goes for anyone you come across, if they are at least willing to talk." His eyes darkened. "If not, then you will be tasked with eliminating the threat at all costs, dragon or otherwise._

 _"If I deal the killing blow, I'll devour them without even meaning to." Ketar frowned deeply. "Too many of our kind have been lost already. Though necessary in most cases, having slain so many dragons is a feat I am far from proud of. This way, at the very least, their immortal souls will be preserved. It isn't a perfect solution, but it does allow for the possibility that they might be reawakened someday to be taught a better path."_

 _A ripple of emotion carried through the assembled dragons like a wave, though exactly what emotion Ketar couldn't tell. So he kept going._

 _"I know I'm young and…more than a little naïve about some things, but…" he smiled a little as his wife rubbed a thumb over his hand, "I like to think that gives me an edge, in certain respects. I'm not yet jaded enough to be blinded by my pain." He cast a glance at Esbern. "To let long-standing prejudices tunnel my vision. I can see beyond the immediate, beyond what is, to what could be." He smiled widely and returned his gaze to the larger crowd. "And what I see here is pure, star-bright potential."_

 _Ketar huffed a small laugh and shrugged. "So…what do you say? Want to help me save the world?" His head tilted briefly. "Again?"_

 _A long minute of quiet voices and exchanged glances passed, every second increasing Ketar's nerves and anxiety by startling margins. And then a loud, rambunctious voice split the silence of the mountain, in a way that made him want to facepalm._

 _"Hell yeah we're in!" shouted Lydia, who was grinning like a madwoman. She patted the multicolored dragon she and Brynjolf had ridden to Solstheim and Whiterun. "Su'umdoqo and I have_ really _bonded, isn't that right?"_

 _The dragon, a female with a rather squeaky voice for a_ dovah _, smirked and flared her wings. "Indeed we have." She threw a wry look at Brynjolf. "And I suppose the male's company is…passable."_

 _The master thief snorted and crossed his arms when the ladies began giggling to each other._

 _Ketar just looked between them and shook his head in exasperation, muttering under his breath. A moment later, Vilkas and Delphine stepped forward, and from the looks on their faces, he knew their answer. His eyes shifted to the dragons, who just stared right back at him for a moment before solemnly bowing their heads in submission._

 _His jaw dropped. "A-All of you? All of you are…"_

 _Dolotlah slithered forward, flanked on either side by Brelyna and Agmaer. "This is our home, and those are our people. That we choose to follow you should not be a surprise,_ Dovahkiin _. Your_ Thu'um _is the strongest of us all, yet rather than subjugate and command, you offer your hand in friendship. It is as Odahviing has told me: you carry great power, but apply it with gentleness."_

 _Ketar cast a glance at Odahviing, who was suddenly looking more than a bit smug, before returning his attention to the other dragons. "If that is your choice, then I more than welcome your aid." His eyes drifted down to the mortals. "And you?"_

 _Vex and Sapphire exchanged a look, the ladies shrugging and the former speaking for both of them. "Sounds like fun. And with the way you dragons hoard, I'm betting there's quite a bit of coin to be had."_

 _Brynjolf chuckled. "Lass, you have no idea."_

 _Etienne, who was trying to look disinterested, picked at his nails and sighed. "Well, I ain't exactly behind this whole altruistic knighthood shtick, but the average workin' man prospers the most in peacetime, if you get my drift." He smiled malevolently. "And the Thalmor are long overdue for some payback. You've got my sword, and my quick fingers."_

 _Ketar's head bowed slightly. "Much appreciated."_

 _Farkas came up next to Vilkas and patted his shoulder briefly. "You've never led us wrong, Dov, and where my brother goes, I go."_

 _"The Companions are already sworn to defend Skyrim and its people," said Aela with an arm around Ria's shoulders. She grinned, all teeth. "That, and I always seem to find the best hunts working with you, Dov. Of course we're in."_

 _A warm, confident feeling settled in Ketar's stomach as he turned to the rest of those present, each giving their assent and commitment in turn until it was down to their youngest riders, the two Blades-in-training._

 _As if a single organism, Brelyna and Agmaer crossed their arms and gave him this_ look _before the Dunmer girl spoke up. "What are you looking at_ us _for? We've been in from the beginning."_

 _Ketar laughed. "I figured, but didn't want to assume." He drew in a slow, deep breath, exhaling in the same manner as he looked over his troops. Then his eyes landed on Esbern, and his smile dropped. "What about you? Have you made a decision?"_

 _The old Blade frowned and blinked, stroking his beard absently as he stared blankly into the distance. Finally he sighed and drew a breath. "I do not trust the dragons. I cannot, not yet. However, despite our…often opposed ideology,_ you _have never given me cause to doubt your commitment. I cannot be out in the field on any consistent basis, but I will help where I can, with the training and education of those who need it. And even if I cannot ultimately support this…unusual idea, I will gladly assist you against the Thalmor."_

 _Ketar smiled and bowed his head. "Good enough for me." He took another breath and paced toward the edge of the mountain, to look out on all of Skyrim._

 _Delphine marched up to his side while Serana flanked him and the rest of his inner circle gathered around. "So…since you're disbanding the Blades, have you thought of a new name for this…organization?"_

 _He pursed his lips and thought for a while, staring blankly into the distance. "It has to be something…symbolic. Something that represents the unity we're trying to create, especially between mortals and dragons."_

 _"Hm," she hummed, falling silent at her own thoughts._

 _It was Lydia who spoke up first. "What about 'Warriors of Skyrim'?"_

 _"Eh," Ketar shrugged, "too generic; not draconic enough."_

 _"Conquerors of Solstheim?" Agmaer proposed._

 _Brynjolf threw him a look. "That was one battle, lad, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that would send the wrong message."_

 _"You're not," Ketar confirmed._

 _"The Knights of Dov," said Serana._

 _Brelyna arched a brow. "Seems a bit egotistical, doesn't it?"_

 _She returned a mildly affronted look. "Not hardly. '_ Dov _' isn't just his—our name, it's the overarching title of all dragonkind."_

 _"Ah, so you're aiming for a double meaning."_

 _"Exactly."_

 _Ketar hummed and shook his head. "Still, Brelyna has a point. This is bigger than me, bigger than any one person or family. It has to be a title that can be applied to anyone, mortal or dragon. You're on the right track, though." He returned to his silent considerations, about a minute passing before his eyes lit up and his face split in a smile. "I've got it." He turned around to face everyone, and marched toward a small, circular clearing. He stopped and motioned to several of those in his inner circle. "Odahviing, Drogstinlok, Delphine, Lydia, Brynjolf, Agmaer, Brelyna—come forth."_

 _A little confused, but starting to understand what he was getting at, they all lined up in front of him as the others parted to make room. The five mortals stood in a line, staggered in the middle with one flanked on either side by the red and blue dragons, and two each on the outside._

 _Ketar lifted one hand, palm-down. "Kneel."_

 _They did, the dragons bowing their heads reverently._

 _The Last Dragonborn looked them over for a few moments before reaching up and unsheathing Alduin's Bane. He marched over to the far right of the line, to Brelyna and Agmaer, the latter of which was at the very edge. Ketar raised the Bane in both hands, blade flat toward the ground._

 _"For exceptional talent," he tapped Agmaer's left shoulder with the flat of his blade, "and your ongoing commitment to justice," he tapped the other, "I name you Grand Inquisitor, hunter-knight of the evils that plague this land." He raised the sword and moved onto the next in line, Brelyna. "For your natural command of magic," he tapped her left shoulder, "and voracious hunger for insight," and the other, "I name you Chief Scholar, keeper and defender of magical and historical knowledge deemed too dangerous for this land." Again, he moved on, coming to Drogstinlok's ice-blue form with a wide smile._

 _"For valor in battle," he tapped Drogstinlok's left horn, "and preserving that most dear to me," he tapped the other one, "I name you Lord Protector, the last line of defense and the vanguard of this land's security." He reached the middle of the line, Delphine. "For your skill in combat," tap to the left shoulder, "and equal skill in subterfuge," tap to the other, "I name you Head Spymaster, the secret hand in the shadows that guides those who act in the light." He moved onto Odahviing, who seemed almost apprehensive about receiving his assignment. "For your strategic aptitude," tap to the left horn, "and fearsome Voice," tap to the right, "I name you Grand General, supreme commander of all forces under my command. Your_ Thu'um _will guide them in the absence of mine."_

 _Odahviing stared at him wide-eyed for a second before bowing his head even lower. "_ Hi zin zu _,_ thuri _."_

 _Ketar smiled and lifted his blade, moving onto Brynjolf. "For your impeccable sense of economics," he tapped the man's left shoulder, a wry smirk making it to his lips, "and…_ unique _skills in acquisition," he tapped Brynjolf's other shoulder to the sound of some chuckles in the crowd, "I name you Chief Quartermaster, charged with the supply and support of our forces, and the…appropriation of anything else we might need."_

 _Brynjolf grinned widely at this, but managed to keep silent._

 _And then, finally, came Lydia, who was staring at the ground with her shoulders hunched a bit, unable to meet his gaze._

 _Ketar frowned at the sight and tightened his jaw, swallowing his way past a lump in his throat as he raised Alduin's Bane once more. "For your immense strength of spirit," he tapped her shoulder, voice cracking a bit, "and immeasurable love and devotion," he tapped the other armor-plated shoulder, the touch of his blade lingering there, "I name you Grand Seneschal, my right hand and protector, steward of all I own and value."_

 _Lydia's head snapped up and green eyes locked onto his, her face a study in openmouthed shock._

 _He just smiled warmly and drew his blade back up as he made his way to stand before the center of the line. "Rise."_

 _They did so as one._

 _Ketar braced his sword tip-first against the ground and placed his hands on the pommel as he looked them over. "You seven represent the core of my inner circle, and the first and greatest of your order." He drew himself up and broadened his shoulders once more, a deep breath entering his lungs as his voice addressed the entire gathering. "The Blades are no more. Henceforth, you shall be known as_ Lahvu Dov'vahlokke _."_

 _A small, predatory smile forced its way to his lips as the rest knelt or bent their necks in the same manner as the first._

 _"The Order of Dragon Knights."_

…

When considering what to wear to this meeting, Ketar had considered wearing Alduin's Visage, if only for intimidation purposes. He decided against it, of course, because a near-mythical armor made of the scales of the World-Eater wasn't something you wore to a "peace talk." Instead, he settled for sticking his tongue at the ambassador, Elenwen, by wearing the exact same suit he'd worn to one of her parties while sneaking in. As it happened, it was also the same outfit he'd been wearing on his wedding night (which was, unlike Serana's dress, still in one piece). As he strapped his gray waistcoat on, he felt his heart hammering against his chest and took a long breath to try and steady its beat.

A pair of slender arms curled around his neck and drew him close. A soft, wet touch at the upper side of his neck preceded a gentle nibble of his earlobe, along with a small, playful giggle. Ketar huffed and rolled his eyes with a grin as he turned in her grasp and held her by the waist.

"Are you done?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you calm?"

Ketar blinked and sighed. "Calm _er_ , anyway."

Serana giggled and laid a smacking kiss on him. "Then there we go."

His eyes slipped shut as he smiled and pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you."

"Mmm," she hummed into his ear as her fingers stroked his hair, "love you too."

They stayed that way, embracing tightly, until a familiar female figure came in through the curtain and cleared her throat.

"The commanders are here," said Delphine.

At that, Ketar inhaled sharply and broke away from his wife, briefly pecking her on the lips and turning toward his Spymaster with a nod. He was stopped short when Serana gently grabbed his shoulder, and was about to protest when she draped something over his shoulders and fixed it to his waistcoat with a single brooch reminiscent of the dragon he'd embossed on his armor. Ketar blinked and looked down, eyebrows shooting skyward at the sight of the rich, deep blue cloak matching the color of his eyes, a pattern of silver embroidery encircling its fringes. The fabric was almost long enough to reach the ground, and came down to his mid-calf.

One touch, and his Breton blood knew it was enchanted.

Ketar turned his head to look back at Serana with a questioning expression on his face.

She just smiled and smoothed out his collar. "Since you've gotten used to wearing one, and are loathe to detach the one you have on your armor, I had my mother make you a new cloak with the same effects. She was happy to test out a new alchemical process she'd been researching, and the enchanting didn't take much, given her direct access to the Soul Cairn." She went up on tiptoes and kissed him just below his ear, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Happy birthday, my love."

Ketar's eyes went double-wide as it hit him all at once. He'd completely lost track of time and date, but…it _was_ almost springtime, wasn't it? His lips twitched with a smile as he fought back tears that threatened to surface. Instead, he closed his eyes and kissed her deeply, longingly, eliciting a small groan as he gave her a silent promise of more to be had later. Her face was flushed when they broke apart, her expression a little dazed and more than a bit heated.

He gently pressed a finger to her slightly parted lips, fighting back his own desire at the sight. "I know. Later."

A low, near-feral rumble passed through Serana's throat as she reluctantly let him go. Shaking himself off, Ketar nodded to Delphine and tapped Lydia on the shoulder when he passed her in the hall. All three of them followed him into the central meeting chamber of High Hrothgar, where Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius were trying desperately not to stare daggers at each other. Their seconds had no such qualms. The moment Ketar and his entourage came through the door, they were both on their feet and staring at him intently.

"All right, Dragonborn," said Tullius. "We came like you asked. Now what's this all about?"

Ketar held a hand up, then used it to motion to his companions. "First, some introductions. Most of you have met, but I don't believe we've exchanged names just yet. Lydia, my housecarl and steward." He drew an arm around the vampire's waist. "Serana, my wife." He nodded to the last of the three. "And that's Delphine, my Spymaster and advisor on all things Thalmor." Another couple sets of footsteps approached the room, permitting three more figures inside. "Ah, yes, come in. These are Agmaer, Brelyna, and Brynjolf; companions and advisors in various fields."

Ulfric exchanged a look with Galmar. "Since when do you have advisors?"

Ketar arched a brow at him, but didn't answer. "I realize this is a difficult situation for everyone, but I promise if you keep calm and follow my lead, this will go off without hitch or incident."

" _What_ will?" demanded Galmar as he shot to his feet. "You've dragged us all the way to the middle of Skyrim to the top of this freezing mountain, far from either of our main forces. If your intent is to stop the civil war by executing both sides in secret, you should know this conflict _will_ continue without us."

The Dragonborn felt the tension in the room rise by a couple notches at his speculation and felt his shoulders and face drop into full deadpan as a result. "Really? You think I brought you here to die? Why the hell would I go to all this trouble when I could've slaughtered all of you back in Whiterun?" He directed a fierce glare at the impetuous Nord. "Do yourself and everyone in this room a favor and leave the talking to your betters."

Galmar's teeth bared as his right hand fisted. "Why you—"

"Jarl Ulfric," Lydia interrupted sharply, "get your attack dog back on his leash, _now_." If her tone wasn't enough warning of impending death, her hand on the hilt of Chillrend certainly was.

Ulfric calmly placed a hand on his friend's arm. "Peace, Galmar. We didn't come here to pick a fight." He directed a pointed look at Ketar. "Not with him, anyway."

Ketar bowed his head slightly.

"Though I'll admit, he has a point. If you want a lasting peace in Skyrim, the Thalmor have to go, and I can't see that happening so long as the Empire is bound by their agreement with the Dominion."

"They won't be much longer, and neither will you."

Tullius frowned. "I still don't see how you can say that with any degree of certainty."

Ketar smirked. "You will."

A few quiet mutters were heard from outside the room, heralding the arrival of their "honored guests" from the Aldmeri Dominion. A couple Thalmor in black hoods and robes entered first, followed by Elven soldiers, and finally Elenwen and her advisors. The delegations from both sides rose to their feet, Tullius moving to greet Elenwen with an air of grudging respect.

"Ambassador," he greeted with a shake of her hand, "so pleased you could make it."

The tall High Elf smiled a little venomously. "Anything for our esteemed colleagues in the Empire." Her gaze flickered to Ulfric for a moment before settling on a slightly smirking Ketar. "Though I'll admit to being a little confused as to why _he_ is here. If this is a meeting to discuss the peaceful…resolution of Skyrim's internal conflict, I hardly think an unsanctioned variable needs to be present."

Tullius cleared his throat. "On the contrary. This meeting was _his_ idea. He believes he can bring us all to a…" he glanced Ketar's way, "satisfactory compromise."

Elenwen snorted and arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

Ketar smiled cheekily. "Quite. Please, ambassador, take your seat." He waved toward the head of the table—well, one head of it, anyway.

Eyeing him carefully, the Altmer ambassador took his suggestion and seated herself with advisors flanking her on either side. "So, Dragonborn, what is it you're suggesting?"

Ketar took a long breath and sat at the opposite end of the table, though not at the head, with Delphine at his left hand and Serana on his right. "Well, it's come to my attention that a great deal of the Stormcloaks' grievances—the ultimate causes of this civil war—actually originate with the Thalmor, not the Empire they're insistent on rebelling against."

Elenwen's eyes narrowed. "Really? How so?"

He smirked dangerously. "Well, Nords, for one, are extremely independent by nature, and not terribly disposed toward trust of Elves. While I don't necessarily agree with this prejudice, you have to understand that their history is _filled_ with examples of…conflict with Elvenkind, all the way back to the first settling of Skyrim by Ysgramor and his Companions."

"Your point?"

He shrugged. "Well, the Thalmor have not only an embassy in Skyrim, but it's come to my attention that they actually commissioned several fully operational garrisons, and have roaming bands of soldiers traveling the country at any given time. I'm sure I don't have to explain how the Nordic people might perceive that as a sort of…armed occupation." His tone was understanding and diplomatic, but he could still see that Elenwen detected the hints of threat in his words. "Now, under the White-Gold Concordat, you're well within your rights to have both present in Skyrim, but for the sake of the population's peace of mind, I would strongly suggest you consider dismantling some of these facilities."

Elenwen steepled her fingers and leaned back in her seat with a smug smirk. "Oh? An interesting proposition. I'll have to give it some thought."

Ketar smiled widely. "Excellent. That also brings me to my other point. Now, it's a bit of a rumor, so please forgive me if I seem ignorant for saying this, but this rumor is quite persistent. I've gotten reports that some of these soldiers, and your other agents here in Skyrim, are responsible for the capture and extradition of Imperial citizens under charges of heresy."

She blinked, a hint of a snarl twitching her upper lip. "Reports? Who from?"

He shrugged and waved dismissively. "Oh, here and there. The details aren't all that important. The point is, these rumors are enough to influence the people's perception of you in a severely negative direction, and I'd like to avoid any further misunderstandings if possible."

"So you want us to reduce our active presence in Skyrim?"

"Precisely. Granted, I understand that your treaty with the Empire has banned the worship of Talos, and enforcing this requires some legwork, but I hardly think it's appropriate for a foreign power to implant itself in the affairs of another nation. The Empire has more than enough manpower to ensure the treaty's terms are kept."

"Manpower, perhaps," Elenwen sent a pointed look at Tullius, "but do they have the will?"

"Well, you know what they say, trust is earned. That you feel the need to send your own 'heretic hunters' abroad could be perceived as a sign that you don't actually trust the Empire to enforce their own laws."

The Elf directed a thinly veiled glare at him, her hands loosely fisted on the table. "I see."

Ketar smiled. "I'm sorry. I hate to drag you all the way out here to discuss such insipid details—" a laugh, "—Akatosh only knows how much I would love to be anywhere else—but if a few boring discussions can prevent a full-scale war, I am more than happy to spare the time. Wouldn't you agree?"

Her glare intensified. "Completely."

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, absently picking at his nails. "Of course, if we were to change those laws, this discussion would be completely irrelevant, and we'd both be free to get back to what's important."

Elenwen blinked and tensed up. "Excuse me?"

Ketar shrugged. "I'm just saying, perhaps our time could be better served by fixing the ultimate problem rather than treating the symptoms."

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. "Just what are you getting at?"

The corner of his lips turned upward. "That perhaps the White-Gold Concordat is no longer sufficient to ensure a lasting and prosperous peace for all parties involved."

The room fell into silence for a long time before Elenwen started chuckling. "Oh…I see now. This is rich, Dragonborn. You haven't the courage or fortitude to pick a side in this squabble, so instead you take out your frustrations on an uninvolved party. With all the supposed legends surrounding your name, Ketar Dov, I never took you for a coward."

At this, Lydia tensed and visibly moved her hand toward her sword.

Ketar held up a hand to stop her, his eyes never leaving the Thalmor ambassador. "How can you say you're uninvolved when it is your presence and the Empire's continued appeasement of your nation that's prompted the Stormcloak rebellion? You might not be actively participating in the conflict, but you have to admit that you are, at least in part, responsible for it."

"Even if that were true," Elenwen spat, "discussing the White-Gold Concordat is a complete waste of time, yours and mine. The treaty is an irrefutable law binding our two nations, and cannot be broken except by regal overrule. And while I may have the power of negotiation on behalf of the Dominion, neither you nor the general can say the same for your Empire." She shot to her feet and looked ready to storm out. "If your only purpose here was to open that pointless discussion, then this meeting is over."

Ketar smirked confidently. "Is it now?"

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the hall just outside the room, and moments later, a full squad of Penitus Oculatus agents filled the room, led by their commander. Everyone in the room, minus Ketar, fell into a state of confusion. Delphine was noticeably more nervous, and her hand began drifting dangerously close to the hilt of her katana as she prepared to shoot from her seat. Meanwhile, Ketar was just smiling.

And then _he_ came through the door, a tall, strawberry blond man arrayed in dark velvet and furs, with rich gold embroidery and brooches affixing his overcoat in place—and a golden Imperial dragon stitched in the center of his tunic. The Imperial delegation immediately shot to their feet before kneeling, while Ulfric's party stared in shock. Well, them and Ketar's companions. As for the man himself, well…

He grinned from ear to ear.

And then threw his arms open and moved toward the new arrival.

"Marius!"

He just managed to catch Serana's eyes widen in his peripheral vision as the Emperor of Tamriel turned toward his advancing form and sighed with a poorly hidden grin.

Tullius, meanwhile, was sputtering and staring at Ketar indignantly. "T-That is—show the Emperor the proper respect!"

The Emperor waved his guards off when they noticed Ketar's advance, though he didn't seem prepared for the way the Breton bear hugged and lifted him off the ground, swinging him back and forth as if he were a sack of grain. The entire room stared at them in open shock as Ketar laughed his head off, setting the royal down a few moments later and holding him at arm's length.

"How long has it been now?" asked Ketar with a grin. "Five years?"

"Three," he replied with a small smile, gently patting the Dragonborn's arms. "Gotta say," he reached out and ruffled Ketar's hair, "you've grown up well."

"Likewise." He chuckled and thumped the other man's chest with the back of his hand. "Glad to see the royal life hasn't fattened you up _too_ much."

Marius arched a brow. "Excuse me, but I was already more than grown up when we first met."

Ketar snorted. "Fifteen is _not_ grown up, old man."

He waved dismissively. "Ah, whatever." He smiled warmly. "It's good to finally see you again." Marius slowly turned his gaze toward the gaping and kneeling Tullius, and sighed a moment before speaking. "On your feet, General. This is hardly the time to stand on ceremony."

"Though I do believe introductions are in order," Ketar interrupted. He faced his companions and the Stormcloak delegation with a wave at Marius. "For those of you who haven't met, may I introduce Emperor Marius I of the Medic Empire."

The Emperor tipped his head to them just slightly. "A pleasure." And then his hazel eyes fixed on a gaping Elenwen with a hard look, though his expression was no less than cordial. "Ambassador," he greeted, reaching out to grasp and shake her hand with both of his, "I apologize for my tardiness."

"Your Imperial Majesty," Elenwen returned in half-shock. "I was not aware you would be present at these proceedings."

Marius smiled ruefully. "After what happened to my predecessor, some extra security measures had to be taken. My presence could not be known until the time came, thus why I arrived late." He drew himself up fully. "However, now that I'm here, I believe we can begin in earnest. Please, sit." He motioned to her empty seat.

With tight fists and a tense frame, Elenwen reluctantly did so.

Ketar, meanwhile, ushered him into the chair opposite her, at the other head of the table, with the Dragonborn and his advisors on his right hand and Tullius' delegation on his left.

Marius turned to Tullius. "General, if you would be so kind, would you catch me up on what's happened so far?"

Tullius seemed stunned for just a moment longer before his professional air returned. "Of course, your majesty."

While he launched into an abbreviated explanation of the meeting's events, Delphine leaned in and whispered in Ketar's ear.

"You…were childhood friends…with the Emperor?"

He leaned and whispered back. "The _current_ Emperor. Marius and I met as kids, and we studied at Cloud Ruler Temple together. Stayed in contact all these years, though it didn't quite sink in until recently just how important his family name was."

"Mede."

"Exactly. I always figured he was part of the extended family." He smirked. "After all, monarchs are notorious polygamists. It never occurred to me that he'd be next in line to the throne."

Delphine quietly whistled through her teeth as her head shook. "What are the chances? The Emperor is assassinated, and a year later, your childhood friend is in a position to stop a civil war. That's one hell of a stroke of luck."

Ketar's lips turned in a small, predatory smile. "It wasn't luck."

She stared at him for a few moments before her eyes widened in realization. "Wait…you're not saying…"

He smiled wider.

Her jaw dropped halfway. "It was _you_?"

Ketar nodded slowly. "Over the years, I've gotten hints, the smallest indications of…something greater happening behind the scenes. It wasn't until recently that it all began falling into place, the grand design of my life." His eyes drifted over those present. "Raised and trained by the Blades to cultivate my martial skill and faith in Akatosh—as well as a persistent hatred for the Thalmor and their special brand of bigotry. Sent to Skyrim, the seat of Alduin's power and home of the Greybeards so I would be better poised to reach my potential as Dragonborn. Inducted into the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood to gain control of an extensive network of operatives for use in gaining victory where ten thousand men would fail.

"My vampirism, to give me something to drive me forward and compassion for those who have fallen short and want to make amends." He stroked Serana's left hand and the ring that sat there. "Meeting Serana and the Dawnguard, to stop Harkon from darkening the sun and bring my life to completion by giving me the one piece that was missing."

Sera smiled, her vampire hearing picking up everything that was said.

Ketar nodded at Marius, who was just about caught up. "Even my time as an assassin and the contract on Titus Mede, permitting my old friend Marius his rise to Imperator. Every single thing in my life, from start to finish, has led to this moment, every twist and turn planned to perfection to give me this one chance to set things right. This…this is the purpose Akatosh gave me…" he smiled widely, "and I couldn't be more grateful."

Finally, Emperor Marius was caught up and frowning grimly as a result. "I see." He smiled. "Well, ambassador, your main point of contention seems to have vanished with my arrival."

Elenwen, looking quite annoyed, turned her nose up at him. "Due respect, your majesty, but no amendment of the White-Gold Concordat could be sufficient to address the Stormcloaks' grievances. I'm afraid you'll simply have to find another way to convince them," she cast a small glare at Ulfric, "or else put their rebellion down for good."

The Jarl glanced between them, tense and eyeing the exits and soldiers in equal measure. He was vastly outnumbered, and he knew it. With one word, the Emperor could order his death, and neither he nor his men would get out alive.

Marius stared at Elenwen for just a second, a brief glance indicating he'd noticed Ulfric's tension. And then his hazel green eyes hardened, his jaw tightened, and his tone lowered from pleasantly cordial to quietly threatening. "Apologies, ambassador, if this seems a little too…forward, but…" his eyes flashed with fire, "at what point did you begin to believe you could give me orders?"

Elenwen tensed and raised a hand. "I did not mean to offend—"

" _Silence_ ," he commanded sharply. "You and your Thalmor are here, both in this room and Skyrim, as guests, not residents; and _certainly_ not rulers. That we are bound by your treaty gives you no license whatsoever to command Imperial forces or overextend your reach beyond the role of intent observers— _as you have done_."

"Your majesty, if I may—"

" _Furthermore_ ," he continued, voice rising in volume and force, "your blatant disregard for the morale of the populace through open indictment and extradition of Imperial citizens does not fall under the terms of the Concordat by _any_ stretch, no matter their crimes, and could well be perceived as an act of war." His eyes narrowed in quiet fury. "That I have agreed to hold this meeting at all without dragging you through those doors in chains is only due to the immense patience and restraint I have had to develop as Emperor." He paused for a moment and took a breath to let all that sink in. "So, if I were you, I would take care just where and with whom you attempt to cast your weight."

The Thalmor ambassador gulped hard, her eyes wide and no small amount of fear clear in their depths. Ulfric, on the other hand, was nearly gaping at the Emperor while looking, for all intents and purposes, like he was in love. Ketar couldn't help but smile at that.

 _His temper got us in a ton of trouble as kids, but properly directed…_

Marius took another long, calming breath before leaning back in his seat. "With that said, I fully agree that we can come to a satisfactory arrangement with all parties coming out better for it. As such, I've taken steps prior to this meeting to ensure the best possible circumstances for such a deal to be made."

Elenwen gulped again and cleared her throat before responding. "How so, your majesty?"

The Emperor leaned forward and knitted his fingers, his hands laid out on the table. "Well, in the past few weeks, I have corresponded with several influential entities in Skyrim and abroad, and spoken with my advisors at length. The truth is, the Empire no longer has the influence and infrastructure to support an occupation of Skyrim. We're stretched thin as is, and after these recent dragon attacks, that has only worsened. Thus, I talked it over with a few of the Jarls," he glanced at Ulfric, "on both sides of the conflict, and decided that Skyrim and the Empire would be better served…" a smile twitched at his lips, "if they were independent of each other."

At this, a startled gasp came from most of the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations.

"Y-Your majesty?" asked Legate Rikke in shock.

"Now," Marius continued, "whether that actually happens or not will be up to Skyrim's High King, who will be chosen, as dictated by Nordic tradition, by the Jarlmoot." He cast a long look at Ulfric. "But the offer will remain on the table regardless—" he held up a finger, "—with one condition."

Ulfric eyed him warily. "What is that?"

Marius smiled. "That our two nations remain bound to each other by friendship, not dominion."

The Jarl blinked slowly, a small smile twitching at his lips as he finally caught onto what the Emperor was getting at. "If that is the case, I foresee little dispute among the Jarls."

He smiled wider. "I was hoping you'd say that." He turned back to the Thalmor. "With that said, if and when Skyrim accepts its independence, it will no longer be bound by our laws—including the White-Gold Concordat. Thus, the Thalmor will have no more cause to interfere in Skyrim's affairs and the Empire no means by which to keep them in line." He splayed his palms upward. "It's a win-win."

Elenwen's upper lip twitched. "Majesty…while I appreciate your attempt at reconciliation with this…rogue element, I'm afraid that such a secession could and likely will be seen by my king as an indirect violation of our treaty."

"And I would be happy to explain it to him if it comes to that, but I must think of what is best for _my_ people first, before taking into consideration any foreign powers…" his eyes narrowed, "even those considered colleagues."

The ambassador snarled openly. "Since you don't appear to understand me, please allow me to speak candidly."

"Please do," Marius said with a nasty smile.

"If you allow Skyrim to secede, and with that drift outside the boundaries of the Concordat, the Aldmeri Dominion will consider it an open subversion of the treaty and an act of war." Her cold eyes narrowed. "And in case you've forgotten, the last war with our nation did not end well for you."

Ketar chuckled and spoke up at this point. "And in case _you've_ forgotten, the Thalmor aren't the only ones who have been preparing for a repeat incident. Furthermore, whatever chaos you were hoping to take advantage of will have been resolved by the end of today."

She blinked. "Advantage? What are you talking about?"

He snorted. "If we're speaking candidly, _ambassador_ , then I can finally say what's been on my mind for the past two years: you _wanted_ this war. You stoked the fires of rebellion in the hopes of such an incident occurring. A civil war in one of the Empire's most prosperous and powerful provinces would leave both sides weakened, no matter who came out on top, giving you the obvious advantage and allowing you to sweep the board in the aftermath."

Elenwen's jaw clenched visibly, but she didn't deny it.

Ketar's lips turned in a predatory smile. "Unfortunately for you, I saw through that and decided to put that advantage to bed," he waved at Tullius and Ulfric, "thus why we are all here. You see, while the pressures of the Concordat forced both sides into an impossible situation, it also primed them for exactly the kind of open conflict you're now threatening. All I had to do to shift your advantage to my side was to show them that there was a different direction they could point their aggression." He shrugged. "I won't say it was easy, but the fact is, they've been doing this for a _really_ long time. They're sick of fighting each other, they owe me, and, well…" he stroked his chin for a second in mock contemplation, "frankly…they both _hate_ you—a _lot_ more than each other."

At this, Ulfric and Tullius exchanged a look and an acknowledging shrug before turning a hard look on the Thalmor delegation.

"So, now that they're done fighting each other, if you decide to start something with the Empire, the two most powerful and influential military leaders in Skyrim will dedicate every waking moment and dreg of energy they have…to fighting _you_." Ketar eyes narrowed. "As will I."

Elenwen snorted. "That may be, but a ragtag band of rebels and a weakened Imperial Legion are hardly threats to the might of the Aldmeri Dominion. And one man will hardly make a difference in the long run."

A new voice answered her from the doorway. "On that, we agree completely."

Ketar grinned even wider as Lord Zhanikan and Bard Gorshun entered the room to sit on Tullius' other side, closest to the Thalmor delegation.

Elenwen glared at him furiously. "Lord Vorenis. I was unaware your nation was relevant to this discussion."

Ulfric glanced at the new arrival curiously. "As was I. Who is this exactly?"

Marius took over from there. "This is Lord Zhanikan Vorenis, sovereign king of Zhanik'la and emperor of the Eltheric Alliance. He is my personal guest and advisor, and, the Nine willing, a great ally in the near future."

Ketar smiled, both at Zhan's arrival and Marius' deliberate use of the "Nine" instead of the "Eight."

"That's exactly right," said Zhanikan smoothly. "Since the founding of Zhanik'la, we and the Empire have been inseparable trade partners, both of commerce and knowledge. However, in recent years, and in particular after these dragon attacks, it's become apparent that the threats facing this world are far bigger than any one nation can handle. As such, I came to Tamriel to propose an alliance to Emperor Marius, an…addition of sorts, to one that already exists." His gaze turned to Marius. "As emperor, I would like to extend to the Medic Empire an official offer of entry to the Eltheric Alliance." His eyes turned to Ulfric. "And should Skyrim choose to accept their offer of independence, such an opportunity would be available to you as well.

"Now, please don't misunderstand. Despite my title, I am not monarch over the members of this alliance, and we are not a singular nation. We are a coalition of independent states united by a single goal: the advancement and safety of life within our borders, and anywhere on Nirn that we choose to reside. We conquer none except those who receive us willingly, peacefully, and a rejection of our offer would be met with no reprisal. However, neither do we allow ourselves or our allies to be conquered under _any_ circumstances." His honey-gold eyes hardened as they met Elenwen's. "By anyone or anything. Accepting our offer will give you access to a wealth of knowledge and trade, as well as stalwart allies willing to aid in defense of those who share our aims."

Marius leaned forward intently. "I've already discussed the details with Lord Zhanikan, and accepted his offer. With our combined might, should another Alduin arise," he sent a pointed glare at the Thalmor, "or _any_ who threaten the peace of this world, they will be answered with swift justice."

Ulfric straightened up and smiled viciously. "Milords, I believe this is a proposal I can get behind."

Marius grinned. "Glad to hear it, Jarl Stormcloak."

"Even if Skyrim does not join the alliance," Ketar added, "I would also like to pledge my assistance…though I represent no nation of my own."

Zhanikan turned a warm gaze on him. "Those who fight in the service of life and peace will _always_ be welcome within our ranks."

Ketar felt a powerful flash of _déjà vu_ hit him a moment before breaking out into a smile and glancing at Elenwen to gauge her reaction. "Then in that case, I would also like to pledge to this alliance the Order of Dragon Knights, a force of currently twenty-two dragons and their corresponding riders."

At this, every other delegation stared at him in shock, save Zhanikan, who was just smiling.

"D-Dragons?" stuttered Rikke.

Ketar nodded slowly. "In the wake of Alduin's defeat, many of his former soldiers admitted to being dissatisfied with his leadership, and in some cases forced to his bidding. I gave them the opportunity to make up for their mistakes by defending the land they'd once scorched. Many of them accepted, and of those who were willing to speak to me but declined my offer, none are any further threat to man or Elvenkind."

"That's…quite a claim, Lord Dov," said Marius.

"And yet it's true. So I swear by Akatosh."

Zhanikan cleared his throat. "Though I was unaware of this particular development, I was present at the Battle of Solstheim, and saw him lead into battle dragons even greater in number. He has their respect, and their trust." He smirked. "And I would not put it past him to grow those ranks in the future."

Ketar burned up a bit at the praise, but kept his cool façade as he watched for Elenwen's reaction. It took her a while, but eventually she dragged a hand over her face, hiding her expression.

And then she started laughing.

Just chuckles at first, then full-blown laughter that rang throughout the room and set Ketar's teeth on edge.

When she finally calmed enough to speak, her eyes were fixed on Marius. "Forgive me, your majesty, but I'm afraid this is going nowhere. These outlandish claims are…simply the last straw." Another laugh. "Skyrim's so-called unity means nothing to us. Both sides have already been weakened to a significant degree. The Medic Empire is a joke, a relic from a bygone age of mortal dominance desperately grasping for its former glory." She cast a baleful glance at Zhanikan. " _Your_ nation, your alliance, is nowhere _near_ as powerful as it once was, and is an entire ocean away from your so-called 'allies.'" Her eyes fell on Ketar. "And _you_ …" she snarled, "your interference here has been a thorn in our side from the moment you walked into my embassy."

Ketar smiled nastily. "Thank you."

Elenwen scowled. "This pathetic attempt at intimidation has only sealed your fate." Her gaze returned to the Emperor. "If your intention was to start a war, human, then you have succeeded!" She leapt to her feet, as did the rest of her men. "Treasure these final days of peace while you can."

Ketar smirked and took a deep breath as the ambassador stormed toward the exit. "One more thing, Elenwen."

She stopped short and looked over her shoulder with a furious glare.

He held a finger up and stood. "I'd like you to meet someone before you go."

She scoffed. "Nonsense."

"No, no—it'll only take a second, and it's on the way out. Come." He looked and motioned to the other delegations. "You too, all of you, come with us."

With mixed reactions of confusion and curiosity, the Imperials, Stormcloaks, and Zhanik'lains followed Ketar and the Thalmor to the exit of High Hrothgar, passing various Greybeards on their way out. Ketar nodded respectfully to Arngeir as they strode past and held the door for a furious Elenwen before following her out into the cold.

"Hold right here, if you will."

The Elf scowled and crossed her arms as the landing at the top of the Seven Thousand Steps began to fill with people. When everyone was finally outside, Ketar winked at Marius and turned his gaze to the fog-covered mountain.

" _Od-Ah-Viing_!"

A distant roar answered his call a moment later, and Elenwen started to tense up, nearly jumping out of her skin when Odahviing's red form landed on the top of High Hrothgar with a crash, his talons keeping him perched on the arch just above them.

"You called, _thuri_?" asked the dragon.

Ketar bowed his head in respect. "I did. This is Ambassador Elenwen of the Aldmeri Dominion."

"A pleasure," Odahviing intoned with an incline of his head.

The Elf was staring at him, paler than usual, and the rest of those present, minus Ketar's party and the Zhanik'lains, weren't looking much better at such close proximity to a live dragon.

Ketar returned his attention to Elenwen. "Odahviing here is my Grand General. In my absence, he commands the Dragon Knights, both mounts and riders."

Though pale and nervous, Elenwen apparently still had defiance to burn. "One dragon does not make an army."

He grinned. "You're right. Odahviing, if you will."

"At once, _thuri_." Odahviing turned his head toward the sky and drew in a breath. " _Lok-Vah-Koor_!"

Within seconds, numerous roars of the same draconic Words of Power resounded across the mountain, and a minute later, the fog around the Throat of the World dissipated into nothingness.

Revealing nearly two dozen dragons perched on or flying about its peak.

Even from that distance, some of the riders were visible on their backs. Upon having fully cleared skies, the dragons of the Knights standing with Ketar descended and landed to rejoin their partners. And at his side, Elenwen and her entire delegation were trembling outright.

Ketar just smiled and cocked his head at her. "So…do we have an understanding?"

Elenwen gulped hard, her eyes fixed on the nearly sun-blotting cluster of dragons flying above them. "Well…I cannot speak for my king…" her attention shifted to Ketar, "however, given the circumstances, I do not believe he will oppose such a deal."

"So, you agree to leave Skyrim be and remain open to further negotiations over the terms of the Concordat?"

She nodded stiffly. "I will do my utmost to convey your terms to my king in the…" she glanced at the dragons before realizing it was a mistake, "best light possible."

Ketar smiled and stuck out his hand. "Then it's been a pleasure speaking with you."

She shook his hand weakly, face pale.

Marius stepped forward next and held her hand even longer. "Given that these new alliances and deals will take time to process, it isn't exactly necessary, but…" he sent a wry smirk at Ulfric, "I think the people of Skyrim would greatly appreciate it if you were to begin withdrawing your people. Starting with your embassy." He shrugged. "After all, if an independent Skyrim is to join the Eltheric Alliance, you will not only have no jurisdiction within its borders under the Concordat, but be dealing not only with them, but the rest of us as well. As such, any further diplomacy with Skyrim should be handled through the larger coalition, and not directly." He smiled venomously. "As I said, it isn't… _critical_ , but would be much appreciated if you could…expedite the process."

Elenwen gulped again. "I will do what I can to recall our forces. The embassy should be dismantled within the month."

"Make it within the week," said Ulfric, "and you have a deal. Don't worry." His eyes narrowed and flashed with fire. "We'll help you pack."

A brief glint of pride and defiance flickered through her eyes for just a moment before she glanced at the dragons again and remembered exactly where she was. "I will…see what I can do."

And with that, the Thalmor all but fled down the Seven Thousand Steps.

…

"I get that we needed their cooperation, but did you really have to be that cruel?"

Ketar laughed and thumped Emperor Marius on the shoulder. "She wasn't getting it! You can't blame _me_ for _her_ stubbornness."

Marius grinned and shook his head as the Penitus Oculatus prepared for his departure. "Lord of dragons you may be, but deep down, you haven't changed a bit." He caught sight of a laughing Serana over Ketar's shoulder as she walked with Lydia and smirked. "Well…maybe a bit."

"I'd introduce you, but I think your captain is getting a little antsy."

The Emperor laughed. "Denarius is a good man. Just a little protective."

"Yeah, I remember. That time he caught you up in the tree—"

"All right, that was _your_ fault. You decided to hurl your training helmet into a high branch and climb after it. I was just too good a friend to let you fall."

Ketar snorted. "Or too dumb to realize I only faked my stumble to freak you out."

"Yeah, yeah, make all the excuses you want. I know the truth."

Kay chuckled and shook his head. "I have missed you, my old friend."

Marius grinned. "Likewise, Ketar."

Denarius, the Oculatus captain, marched up next to the Emperor and tapped him on the shoulder. "Milord, we're ready to depart."

Marius nodded and turned back to Ketar, embracing him. "Stay in contact, Tarro. Don't be a stranger."

Ketar smiled ruefully. "Unfortunately, the Dominion probably won't give me a choice in the matter."

"Your Imperial Majesty, Lord Dov."

They both turned toward the approaching Lord Zhanikan.

"I'm glad I caught you before you left."

Marius stuck out his hand and shook Zhan's. "Lord Vorenis, I cannot express how grateful I am for your help, both here and in these past few months. Resolving this without unnecessary bloodshed would've been nigh impossible without your aid and guidance."

Zhanikan waved dismissively. "Nonsense. You are a good man with a solid set of morals and a good head on your shoulders. You will be a fine emperor, perhaps the finest of your age, and I will be glad to be there for such a man moving forward." He cleared his throat. "That said, I would like to present you with a gift, as a token of our newfound alliance."

He held out a small box with the symbol of Zhanik'la, one Ketar recognized. The prize inside was also something Ketar recognized.

"An amulet?" asked Marius.

"An amulet of communication," Zhan confirmed. "When Skyrim chooses its next High King or Queen, I will gift them with one of these as well. All members of the Eltheric Alliance carry one, in cases of emergency. If you ever need my help, or that of any of the alliance's members, do not hesitate to call on us."

Ketar eyed Zhanikan curiously, his head cocked a bit as Marius looked the gift over.

"Thank you, Lord Vorenis," said the Emperor as he slung the amulet around his neck.

Zhanikan smiled warmly. "Please, we're friends, are we not? Call me Zhan."

After Marius left, when things were finally starting to settle down, Ketar walked with Zhanikan toward the rear of High Hrothgar, where Bard was speaking with Serana.

"Why did you give me an amulet?"

Zhan glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"A communication amulet. You gave me one as a wedding gift."

"And?"

Ketar frowned. "So you only give them to members of the Eltheric Alliance, meaning people like the Emperor and Skyrim's High King. I'm no king, Zhan."

He stopped short and gave him a curious look, a smile tugging at his lips. "No? You rallied heroes from across Skyrim to defeat an ancient Dragonborn. You successfully gained the respect and trust of the dragon race, which is _not_ an easy feat, and enlisted over twenty of them in continued service to this land and its people. You have an inner circle of trusted operatives and advisors: Delphine as spymaster, Brynjolf as master of requisitions, Brelyna your head of research, Agmaer a hunter-knight, Odahviing as general, Drogstinlok your vanguard, Lydia your major domo." He smirked. "And Serana, as your wife and consort." Zhan's head tilted toward Ketar. "Sounds a lot like a king to me."

Ketar sighed as he gave his companions a once-over.

Zhan placed his hands on Ketar's shoulders, meeting his eyes. "A king is not defined by the land he owns or the power he wields, but by the people he chooses to surround himself with…and is willing to give his life for." His gaze intensified. "Remember that, son. No matter what."

Ketar gulped and nodded slowly. "I will." He snorted a laugh and smirked. "And I'm not your son."

Zhan smiled, but Ketar could've sworn he flinched as he pulled away. "Of course." The king turned to Bard and raised his voice. "Bard! Come on."

Serana blinked and looked between them. "Wait, you're leaving already?"

Bard smiled. "Afraid so. There's a banquet in Zhanik'la tonight, celebrating the anniversary of the nation's retaking."

Ketar chuckled. "Hate to break it to you guys, but I think you might miss it. Aldmeris is a little further than an afternoon's boat ride—or a dragon's."

Zhanikan smiled and winked cheekily. "Closer than you might think."

He turned to a large, open space in the back of the room and raised his right hand, where his draconic signet ring was. The red gem making up his signet began to glow, the light flaring to a peak before abruptly going out. When it did, a large space in the back of the room erupted into an ellipse of ruby-colored energy. Inside the ellipse was a glassy red sheet of rippling magic—with a scene of celebration and merriment on the other side. Bard hugged Serana as Ketar stared at the portal, slowly shifting his gaze to Zhanikan.

"You…are a very unusual man."

Zhanikan grinned and gave him a two-fingered salute. "Goodbye, Ketar Dov. I hope to see you again very soon."

Ketar smiled back and held up his hand in parting. "Goodbye, Zhan."

Moments later, they both stepped through the portal, and were gone.

…

After everything was said and done, all parties returning home, Ketar and Serana decided to ride back to Whiterun on Stormbreaker, for what felt like the first time in ages. The Dragon Knights all went their separate ways, as was the intention of the Order, and Ketar left it to them and their partners to sort out where they would stay and live. Autonomy was the ultimate objective of the Dragon Knights, after all. Despite his confident airs, he didn't know exactly how that was going to work long-term, but he trusted his circle and he trusted his father. He'd figure it out when the time came.

When they finally returned home, Ketar faceplanted on his bed in full Colovian dress, not even bothering to pry his boots off. He sensed a presence at his back just moments before said boots came off and were tossed into a far corner of the room. Ketar rolled over, eyes widening when Serana immediately leaned over and straddled him, her hands on the bed on either side of his head. Her face was inches from his, her breath hot and heavy on his face.

"Sera…" he sighed.

She growled playfully and bared her fangs, desire lacing her tone. "You…are the sexiest man alive, my precious husband. If I hadn't already married you, I'd have proposed after today."

He arched an eyebrow, an amused tug at his lips. "Oh yeah?"

Her lips ghosted over his neck and ear as she whispered in a way that drove him crazy. "The way you took that Altmer witch apart—" kiss, "—piece—" kiss, "—by—" kiss, "piece." A long, lingering kiss was pressed to his lower neck, near his shoulder, the tip of her tongue coming out to flicker over his skin. Her lips drifted back up to his ear, voice a sultry whisper. "Delicious."

Ketar gulped hard, breathing heavily as his hands drifted up from her hips to her back. A languid smile spread across his lips as he caressed her body, eyes meeting hers in challenge when she drew back enough to see his face. "Then come devour me…if you can."

Serana grinned, all teeth, and immediately went for the brooch of his cloak and buttons of his coat, nearly ripping them from their mountings in her rush to strip his clothes. Ketar likewise began working on her, all-too-practiced in removing her customary royal armor after all this time. In the midst of this frenzy of playful, flirtatious competition, Ketar just started laughing, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Serana noticed, and began laughing with him until she noticed a falter to his tone and started to realize it wasn't just humor driving his tears.

"Honey? Kay?"

His laughter calmed and slowed, tears still streaming from his eyes as his wife looked him over with concern. "I-I'm okay." He smiled widely, still crying. "I'm _great_."

And then she got it, and smiled with him. "It's over, love. It's all over."

"Well," he grunted, clearing his throat, "not quite. Not until this whole Thalmor business is put to rest, but…" Ketar grinned. "As long as I have you, and them…I don't care. My life, my purpose…is complete." He held her tightly. "I'm free."

Serana smiled into his hair, kissing him lightly. "Yes you are. And you're mine."

He chuckled and bared his teeth in a grin. "Yes…all yours. Now…" he gave her a smoky look, " _please_ shut up and devour your sexually frustrated husband."

She reared her head back and laughed uproariously before descending on him and whispering her answer against his lips. "As you command, Lord Dov."

* * *

AN: Well okay then. Here we are, on the cusp of ending this story. To say I am…immensely satisfied by how this has turned out would be the greatest understatement of 2018—which I can say because the year just started, haha. Anyway, plenty of stuff for you guys to think about in this chapter and the last, and I don't particularly feel like commenting on it, because to do so would spoil _so_ much I have planned for the third story.

I will, however, give you a tiny hint in the form of the title of said story: _Heir to Zhanik'la_. Think what you will of that.

Excited to see your guys' responses and opinions on this arc. Goodness knows it was difficult as crap to write, especially the final confrontation with the Thalmor. I am _not_ a fan of politics, but to make Ketar's solution work, I really had to commit to the political side of this mess, therefore the month-long delay between the last arc and this one. Suffice to say, I do not intend to become a political writer…ever. It was physically painful to write, though I will say the end result was _more_ than worth it.

I hope you agree.

Just one more epilogue chapter left, and I'll be wrapping this up. Not sure when I'll have it out, but until then, I think this is a good point to leave you guys. Hope you enjoyed it. Until later.

Drake out.

 _Dovahzul_ translations:

"Ahstkaanaaz" – name of a dragon: "At Kyne's mercy"

"Su'umdoqo" – name of a dragon: "Breath of lightning"

" _Hi zin zu_ _,_ _thuri_ _." – "You honor me, master."_

Musical Inspirations:

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword - Knights of the Round Table: start-0:43—Elenwen's threat and bluster/"final days of peace", 0:43-1:36—Ketar's smirk/meeting someone on the way out, 1:36-2:12—summoning Odahviing/Grand General/clearing the skies. 2:12-end—full skies/coming to an understanding/Thalmor flee

P.S.: One of you proposed this theory, and because I don't plan to get to the next story for some time, I'll debunk it right away in this note. Zhanikan is NOT Akatosh in disguise. For an Aedra or Daedra to manifest on Nirn for any given period of time requires a conduit, and a powerful one. Thus why Akatosh has to limit his influence on the world to the actions of his children. If he were Lord Zhanikan, a man who's been around long enough to found and run a country, he would not only have never needed Ketar, but the cosmic balance of the universe would've been upset beyond repair and a reality-breaking paradox would've ensued that would've likely destroyed the mortal realm. Just wanted to make that clear.


	24. Epilogue: Peace

Three weeks passed, and with them the first days of spring. Temperatures rose across the nation, breathing new life into man and nature alike. Ice in the middle and southern regions began to melt and give way to soft grass and dirt. Farmers across Skyrim plowed their fields and tilled the ground in preparation for planting. The rich and nobility sojourned to their springtime homes for some early relaxation before the early springtime surge in business or political crises. For the Order of Dragon Knights and their Grandmaster, it was a time of growth and adaptation to an entirely new paradigm of living and working.

Scattered across Skyrim, settling back into their regular homes and occupations, gained a new layer of complexity when it started to sink in that they weren't alone anymore. The duties and responsibilities foisted upon their shoulders were daunting for some, exciting for others. However, their alliance and, in most cases, friendship with their dragon mounts and partners alleviated a great deal of the stress every time the sheer scope of their task hit them. As Ketar had initially observed, the choices made on the Throat of the World when riders had first met their mounts were far from random.

Riders did not merely pick a dragon based on location or appearance. Whether through a higher, external will or a form of intuition common to all sentient children of Nirn, rider and dragon had chosen partners that would, in time, prove the greatest complement of power and wisdom to their skill and savvy. Odahviing and Drogstinlok were something of exceptions to this rule, though only in that their responsibilities kept them from having a single partner per se. The closest thing they had were Serana and Ketar, but if they had any say in the matter, neither of them were going to be doing any dragon riding for quite a while.

About a week after the negotiation at High Hrothgar, the Thalmor evacuated over ninety percent of their forces from Skyrim (Ulfric _and_ Tullius had kept their word about "helping them pack"). Not quite a complete withdrawal, but enough to pacify the more militant Nords into accepting the sweeping changes occurring in concert with the Aldmeri mass exodus. Of those changes, the first was shocking to just about everyone. Namely, the crowning of a new High King. The identity of the Jarlmoot's ultimate decision was none other than Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun.

According to some eyewitness accounts, Ulfric had put up quite the protest when more than half the moot designated Balgruuf as their choice. However, without the contention of the civil war and "Imperial oppression," he soon realized how flat his reasoning would fall, and conceded his vote to the one man who'd remained neutral throughout the conflict. Balgruuf himself had been just as shocked, but graciously accepted the responsibility and, with his first action as High King, accepted the Empire's offer of independence. Less than a week later, Skyrim joined the Eltheric Alliance.

Now, to any outside observer, this particular sequence of events might have seemed a perfectly logical procession for a new king, especially given Balgruuf's fiercely independent and protective attitude. However, to Ketar, it all seemed just a little too…coordinated. He wouldn't say that Zhanikan had manipulated the whole thing, but given that Ketar had had to do barely half of the planning to execute that coup against the Thalmor (and that he had given Zhan Balgruuf's name as favored candidate for High King), he wouldn't have put it past the Aldmeric king to have… _convinced_ the other Jarls to lean Balgruuf's way.

Normally, Ketar wouldn't approve of even the _appearance_ of political manipulation, but in this particular case, he was willing to allow it. Why? Because the only other candidates with enough political clout weren't anywhere near fit for the job. As he'd told the late King Torygg, Elisif was simply too soft and impressionable to be effective at running a country. And Ulfric? Ketar couldn't trust the man any further than he could throw him—which in retrospect was quite the distance. The Jarl of Windhelm would do what was best for the Nords, and _only_ the Nords. In that respect, Ketar saw little difference between him and the Thalmor.

So no, he wasn't going to protest. Point of fact, Ketar Dov fully intended to stay out of politics inasmuch as possible for the foreseeable future, a wish he would have little trouble honoring if his wife had anything to say about it. Speaking of whom, she'd been far calmer and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her after the Thalmor finally pissed off. Up until then, she'd constantly been pushing him to move their honeymoon up (an event that she insisted deserved at least a two-month break given how many times he'd saved Skyrim in the last six months). But now that things were finally calm, now that they were alone and free to relax…

"How do you feel about going swimming?"

Ketar blinked and looked up at Serana with raised eyebrows. "Say what?"

"Swimming, Kay. We're right next to a perfectly good lake, and it's probably the warmest it's been in months." She plopped down on top of him, chin planted on his chest so she could look up at his face. "Could set out some food, throw down a few blankets, and stay out all day soaking in the heat.

"…but you _hate_ being out in the sun."

Serana shrugged. "It annoys me a bit, but it doesn't really hurt per se. Especially if I'm fed on your blood."

"Hm. Yeah, I guess that makes sense, but still."

She crawled up his body to straddle his waist, hands on his shoulders as she stared down at him. "Come on, love. Stop worrying about me and live a little."

He hummed in thought for a moment before throwing her a sly look. "…this is just an excuse to get me shirtless for the day, isn't it?"

She didn't even hesitate before grinning and nodding emphatically.

Ketar chuckled and leaned up to bury his face in her bosom. "You are _incorrigible_ , Sera."

"Hmm…didn't hear you complaining about that yesterday."

"Mmm…that's true."

Serana leaned back and looked him in the eye. "So? What do you say?"

His eyes rolled in amusement as he grinned and gently pushed her off. "I say I'll get the food, you grab the blanket."

She outright squeaked in excitement when he kissed her and pulled off to see to the preparations. The vampire scampered off to find the proper linens—and probably something to wear that would leave him a drooling mess. Lakeview Manor was his equivalent of a summer home, situated in the Hold of Falkreath, in the far southern regions of Skyrim. They'd been brainstorming the right location to get started with their long overdue honeymoon when he mentioned having a lakeside mansion. The bright, excited look in her eyes was all the indication he needed to know what her choice was going to be. Relaxing on the shoreline of a lake wasn't exactly his favorite thing to do, but he blamed that on the fact that he'd never really tried it. Relaxing with _her_? Now that he could do.

As for her comment about the previous day, their honeymoon, between ironing out the specifics of the Dragon Knights' duties and logistics and making sure the Thalmor kept their word; had been delayed until two nights prior. That night, just before sunset, before they set off for Lakeview Manor, when Serana was about to nap, Ketar had asked her for a small sample of her blood under the guise of testing some new enchantment. She believed him, of course, and while not technically a lie, he figured she would protest pretty heavily if she'd known what he was really up to. The moment he had the filled vial, he called for Odahviing and made a little trip out west…

…

 _The scratching of iron on slate was a fairly commonplace sound in the Chapel of Auri-El these days, as its guardian required a means of keeping busy in the midst of the empty loneliness. Said guardian was intent in focus, the tip of his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he slowly lowered his chisel to the slate…_

 _And flinched when a hand slapped down on his shoulder, nearly scoring a deviant mark on his current work._

 _A pronounced sigh came from Gelebor's throat as he climbed to his feet and turned to send a small glare at his interruption. "Do you mind?"_

 _Ketar grinned, all teeth. "You know, sometimes it's the imperfections that make something truly beautiful. Take Serana and all my scars, for instance."_

 _The paladin arched a brow and shook his head. "I'd rather not, thank you."_

 _He just grinned some more. "So, how are you doing? We didn't really get to talk much after the battle."_

 _Gelebor shrugged and strode toward a table containing some of his other etching tools. "Fine, I suppose. I'm used to long,_ uninterrupted _periods of silence."_

 _Ketar frowned and approached him from the side. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. If I didn't know you have a giant stick up your butt, I'd have invited you to a not-so-little series of meetings I've been having over the last couple weeks."_

 _"Oh?"_

 _He nodded slowly. "I needed a way to rally my allies, dragon and mortal, so I partnered them up and knighted them."_

 _Gelebor stared at him. "You're joking."_

 _"'Fraid not," he replied with a smile._

 _"And how's_ that _going?"_

 _A chuckle. "Well, it's going all right. Some personality clashes, some logistic issues, but for the most part, they're getting along so far. I don't expect all of Skyrim to understand what it is I'm trying to do, at least not at first, but in time—"_

 _"You want dragons to become a part of their everyday life in a role other than destroyers."_

 _He waved at Gelebor. "Yeah. I mean, you were there when I gave that speech, right?"_

 _"I was."_

 _He exhaled hard. "I'm bracing myself for the inevitable conflict that's coming between man and dragon, but trying not to worry too much. With the way Akatosh planned things out, and the way they've happened, it's hard not to believe in the future."_

 _Gelebor smiled. "An admirable viewpoint. One I have striven many ages to attain."_

 _"All the same, I can't keep going like I've been. I need a break, and so does Sera."_

 _"Understandable. I can't even imagine pushing myself the way you have so consistently. From the day we met, you've been running from one crisis to the next. I think you've well earned your rest."_

 _Ketar smiled ruefully. "Agreed. And so has Sera. That's…actually why I'm here."_

 _Gelebor cocked his head. "How so?"_

 _His lips pursed. "I need your help with something. And…your blessing." He waved at the nearby wayshrine with a small flare of magic, prompting it to rise from the ground and reveal the Bow and Armor of Auriel. "I want to give Serana something special to kick off our honeymoon."_

 _Gelebor frowned at him in confusion until he reached into a bag at his hip and drew out a single Elven arrow—with a shaft black as night, and a head dyed in blood._

 _The paladin's ice-blue eyes widened. "You—that is—"_

 _"A Bloodcursed Elven arrow," he confirmed. "Now, understand something: I don't intend on drawing this out."_

 _"Meaning what?" Gelebor asked uneasily._

 _Ketar's lips pursed tightly. "I'm going to fire this into the sun, and for the next twenty-four hours, the sun will be darkened. But only until then." He drew out another arrow, this one a silvery-white Sunhallowed arrow. "Because you're going to fire_ this _into the sun the very next evening."_

 _The paladin stared at the arrow, then at him. "Even if I approved of this plan, I am unworthy to wield Auriel's Bow."_

 _Ketar's eyes rolled in pure annoyance. "Yeah, and you were 'unworthy' of Auriel's Armor, too. So much so that my father himself worked_ through _you to send Miraak's army back to hell."_

 _"…what?"_

 _The Dragonborn's lips pursed. "Serana told me what happened when you cast the banishing spell. She heard another voice overlaid on yours, mirroring your words. And she_ recognized _it."_

 _Gelebor frowned and looked away._

 _"You're his instrument, Gelebor, just like I am. You need to stop hammering yourself for the past."_

 _A sigh. "I know."_

 _"And get off this freaking mountain every once in a while. Not for long, but, say…one day every week. Get yourself back out into the world, just a little. Make some_ friends _." Ketar smirked. "Find someone else you can share your art with."_

 _Gelebor snorted a laugh._

 _Ketar's smile faded. "But most of all, don't be a stranger. I don't want months to pass without words between us. You and I…have perhaps one of the greatest bonds because of my father. You've been an immeasurable help and friend over these past months, and I couldn't be more grateful."_

 _He smiled back. "I feel the same, Dragonborn." His lips pursed as he eyed the Bloodcursed arrow. "That being said, are you certain this is a wise course of action? Blotting out the sun could have some…adverse effects on you."_

 _"How so?"_

 _Gelebor shrugged. "I haven't the faintest clue. It's never been done before. But if I had to guess, I would say any of your abilities that derive their power from the sun would be severely limited, if not blocked entirely."_

 _Ketar smiled and nodded slowly, staring at the setting sun. "For her…that's a risk I'm willing to take. Besides, it's just one day."_

 _A sigh. "I suppose it is." His head cocked. "So you're set on this?"_

 _He nodded. "I am."_

 _Gelebor waved at the bow. "Then by all means. Fire away."_

 _Ketar handed him the Sunhallowed arrow and made his way to Auriel's Bow, taking the floating weapon from its mountings and half-expecting himself to be pulled back into the rift. Strangely, nothing happened save a slight glint of light from the bow. He frowned a little as he faced the sun, nocking the Bloodcursed arrow and slowly drawing it back._

Sorry about this, father, but…I think she's earned one day free of her curse.

 _The blood-tipped arrow flew forth, far into the distance, as if launched from some celestial ballista—which he supposed it had been. It vanished from sight moments later, and as he stared into the brilliant orange light of the sun, his eyes widened. From its very heart came a pulse of crimson energy, a swirling vortex of pure darkness that spread out from the center and blotted out the sun's light within seconds. He'd prepared himself for this, but to actually see it…this new "sun" was…beautiful, in a way, shining a faint red light over the whole of Nirn that felt only a little colder than usual. Still, he frowned and laid the bow back in its levitating chamber, then stopped next to Gelebor and laced his fingers together._

 _He drew them apart, up and down, and in the typical circular motion to open his rift. To his mild surprise, nothing happened. Nothing at all. He tried it again, focusing harder, and a few sparks erupted from his fingertips, but no portal opened._

 _Ketar let out a small huff. "Well…how about that?" His eyes drifted to the curiously staring paladin. "One day, remember?"_

 _Gelebor nodded and held up his arrow. "I will see it done."_

 _"Thank you."_

 _About a minute later, Ketar was on Odahviing's back and on his way back to Whiterun. The dragon was a little tense every time he glanced at the darkened sun, but he'd known of Ketar's plans beforehand. Point of fact, the entire Order had known, everyone except Serana. Why? Because for the next twenty-four hours, it would be perpetual night, and if he knew anything about human nature, it was that nighttime did strange things to the criminal element. It emboldened them to a degree that would simply be impossible in the daytime. So, he'd tasked the Dragon Knights with their first official mission: keep the peace in Skyrim for one day, without his help._

 _Most had welcomed the challenge, Lydia especially, and thusly because she was one of the few to figure out exactly why he was doing it. That, of course, being an uninterrupted period of twenty-four hours to be filled with food, drink, laughter, and an_ unquantifiable _amount of honeymoon sex. He fully expected to be robbed of his ability to walk for the next week. Point of fact, he_ hoped _for it. His wife was_ hot _, and comparatively speaking, he was still pretty much a virgin. His past trysts with Serana had only managed to whet his appetite, something he'd kept under wraps so he could focus on stopping Miraak and the civil war. Without those to distract him…_

 _Well, suffice to say Serana wouldn't be the_ only _one dragging the other into bed._

…

He'd been right about one thing: the morning after was nothing but soreness… _everywhere_. So, in retrospect, to go for a nice, relaxing swim in Lake Ilinalta sounded like a _great_ idea. He grunted as he carried a large sack of meat, cheese, bread, and other delectables out the back door, finding several blankets and a small canopy already laid out, but no Serana. Ketar frowned as he laid the sack down under the canopy, looking around for his wife. Finding no one else around, he figured she'd gone back inside and shrugged his shirt and trousers off, leaving him in a pair of short smallclothes. He'd just started to stretch out when he inhaled sharply at the feel of slender arms encircling his midriff.

His face heated up when he felt the plump softness of two very prominent features pressing into his back, and turned in her grip half-expecting her to be naked. She wasn't, but his mouth still ran dry at what he saw. Serana was wearing the exact same set of tiny smallclothes she'd come out of the bath in right before Lydia was kidnapped some months back, comprised entirely of black leather and covering just enough to consider her "not naked." Though the set was _far_ from decent. And that teasing grin on her face was only making things worse.

It was just as well that the house was so isolated, because if anyone else could see her in this state…well, to say he would be _extremely_ jealous would be an understatement.

Ketar licked suddenly dry lips as they checked each other out, his hands coming up to grip her hips—her practically bare hips. A low groan came from his throat, prompting her grin to widen.

"Why'd you even bother wearing this thing?" he half-whined. "What's the point? You might as well have come out naked."

A mischievous glint entered her eyes as she reached back toward the laces of her chest wrapping. "That can be arranged."

His eyes widened, and he immediately stopped her hands. "Don't—don't even think about it. I am still _way_ too sore from yesterday, but if you do that…" he leaned in and whispered throatily, "I will _not_ be able to control myself."

Serana flashed her fangs and gently nipped his neck. "That's the idea, love."

Ketar groaned and drew back, switching his grip from her hips to her hands. "Let's just swim, okay? I need to work out some of these cramps, and you need to get under the water so I'm not distracted by…" he waved at her half-bare body, "all this."

She arched a raven eyebrow as she allowed herself to be pulled along. "Really? You think getting me wet will make me less distracting?"

His face immediately burned scarlet, and he shot her a small, heatless glare as he picked her up and carried her to the water's edge. Serana cackled the whole way, kicking and struggling without much effort as he tossed her into the lake. The moment her head came up, she resumed laughing until she could hardly move. Until Ketar dove in and splashed her. Now looking like a soaked puppy, her hair sticking to her shoulders and face, Serana couldn't help but grin as her husband slowly resurfaced—with his cheeks looking like a balloon. She caught onto what he was doing a split-second before he spewed an entire mouthful of water into her face, throwing her stuck hair back and clearing that face completely.

When her glowing eyes blinked away the water, he was wearing the same toothy grin she'd had on just a few moments earlier. So she smiled and bit her lower lip in a way she knew drove him crazy, like she'd just accepted a challenge.

And the greatest splash war in Lake Ilinalta's history began.

Ordinarily, the largest explosions of water were created if someone were to impact the surface from above. In this particular case, the lake was at the mercy of an ancient pureblooded vampire and a Dragonborn. Suffice to say that any lesser opponent would've been half-drowned less than a minute in. For them, it was a matter of personal pride that each be able to outdo the other. Mid-strike, Serana dove beneath the surface and sped through the water to grab Ketar's legs. He was quickly flipped over her shoulder to sink head-first beneath the lake. As he plunged beneath the surface, his body twisted around and legs pumped hard, launching him shoulder-first into Serana's hips.

They both surfaced a moment later, Serana slung over his shoulder and laughing hard. Ketar growled playfully and hoisted her into the air, throwing her a full eight feet across the lake and immediately diving in after her. When he opened his eyes underwater, he was, for the briefest moment, stopped in his tracks. Raven hair flowing and fanning out in a cascade driven by the water's current, pale, ethereal skin practically glowing in the light of the sun streaming down. Those sunset-colored eyes that cut across the space between them, his own helplessly held in their gaze.

Serana had been right about one thing: getting her wet was most _definitely_ more distracting. Still, by the dazed look on her face, it appeared that getting him underwater was having the same effect on her, so he took advantage of that to close the distance and trap her in his arms. She smiled upon being captured, and the sight sent a nearly painful warmth throughout his chest. Like that, all the fight left him, and he released her to bring both hands up to cradle her head. Ketar held her there for just a moment before closing his eyes and bringing his lips to hers. The cool flow of the water was a stark contrast to the searing heat that passed between them, Serana's hands practically fire on his chest.

They stayed there, holding each other, intimately locked together, until the need for air overcame their need for each other, and they launched back toward the open air together. When they broke the surface, they just floated there, eyes only for each other. Water droplets were running down her hair and skin and— _dear gods_ —her lips were parted, ever so slightly, with that same half-dazed look in her eyes. This time, there was a fierce glint of possessiveness there, and that, combined with the firm way her fingers tangled in his hair, prompted him to grab her by the hips and hold her flush to his body.

Serana's legs curled around his waist, her arms around his neck, fingers gently digging into his scalp. Her breathing got heavy, her face mere inches from his, and she was trembling just slightly. He knew for a fact that it wasn't from the cold water. And apparently his body had recovered from the soreness of the previous day, because seemingly without his consent, it decided to close the gap without an ounce of restraint. Between the searing heat of her skin on his and the fire stoked within himself, it wasn't long before what little they were wearing ended up tossed on the shoreline, and he was _very_ glad the lake house was so isolated.

…

Lydia snored—loudly.

It was a little-known fact, even among the lovers she'd permitted to actually stay 'til morning, mainly because she usually exhausted them so badly the previous evening that they slept right through it. Brynjolf, on the other hand, had always been a remarkably light sleeper. One of the perks and downfalls of being a master thief, he supposed. If he was being honest, he found it kind of cute—or he would've if he hadn't been so exhausted from yesterday and as a result desperate for more sleep. As it happened, he groaned and rolled over in bed, slamming a pillow down over his ears.

 _Snooooooore!_

Another, louder groan, and he decided enough was enough. So he used the single most effective means of waking her— _without_ getting a punch to the family jewels. He tickled her. Ferociously. The progression of her waking whenever this happened was fascinating to watch: first her snoring stopped, then her eyes snapped open, usually immediately locking onto her assailant; then her mouth opened even wider, but no sound came out. She just started squirming with silent laughter, and then a few gasps of air later, the laughter came, breathless and desperate. Brynjolf witnessed all of this with pure fascination, watching as locks of her mussed brown hair danced around her face and landed anywhere from the pillows and sheets to the top of her chest.

When she finally regained some coherence, her green eyes met his gaze, practically pleading for mercy, and he stopped at once. Her breathing remained heavy, her gaze unmoving until her eyes slipped shut and she moved, ever so slightly, further into his touch. A small, contented sigh came from her lips, and it was like being punched in the gut. His arms slipped around her shoulders, his nose flush with her hair, his body cradling hers as if she were the most important, precious thing in the world. And to him, she was.

Brynjolf took a long, ragged breath before speaking barely above a whisper. "I love you, lass."

He felt her smile against his cheek and curl her arms around his back so she could pull him closer. "I love you too, handsome." She inhaled audibly and kissed his neck. "I love you so much."

Brynjolf smiled and stroked her hair. "Funny how things change, eh? A month or two ago, you could hardly even _acknowledge_ our relationship, but now…"

Her hands drifted to his chest, where her fingers tightened against his muscles, feeling him up in the process. "Now I don't want to remember life outside it."

"I do." He kissed her temple. "Helps me appreciate my life now."

"Eh, that's fair I guess."

They lay in silence for quite a while, Brynjolf's fingers occupied with detangling Lydia's hair while her hands traced the curvature of his muscles and scars. Speaking of scars, his other hand eventually drifted down to her clavicle, his fingers probing the space between her breasts to find the electrical scar she'd been given by Zahkriisos. He felt her flinch just noticeably enough to cause him to frown.

"You all right, Lydia?"

"Y-Yes."

"…want to try that again?"

A sigh. "I'm okay. Just trying not to think about all the…defects."

He held her at arm's length, forcing her to meet his eyes as he traced his index finger back and forth across her scar. "Lass, you are the craziest, most wonderful woman I know." He leaned down to wetly kiss the scar, causing her to squeak just a bit. "And beautiful from head to toe. I'll keep telling you that as long and as often as it takes to sink in…even if that's every—" kiss to her temple, "—single—" kiss below her earlobe, "—day."

"You…" she stuttered as he kept kissing along her neck and jawline, "you're such a flatterer…and a tease."

"You could always stop me," he mumbled between kisses.

Lydia huffed a breathless laugh as his lips gently smacked against her pulse point. "Not on your life."

In truth, he wasn't teasing so much as exhausted, partly because he hadn't yet achieved a full sleep cycle. The other part was what they were assigned yesterday: the safeguard of Skyrim against any potential raids and riots caused by twenty-four hours of endless night. And boy were there ever. Being in and around the territories of the Rift, Su'umdoqo had spotted a group of heavily armed bandits heading for Goldenglow Estate, one of the core producers of Brynjolf's new merchant guild. They'd arrived within moments of the bandits' arrival and dispensed of the assailants within a matter of seconds, partly because most of them ran as soon as they saw the dragon.

The rest were subdued quite easily and turned over to the local authorities, who had become significantly more effective at actually enforcing the law in the months following Maven's imprisonment. From there, it was a litany of petty crime and minor panic, which Brynjolf partly resolved by selling a calming tonic to as many as bothered to stand by his stall and listen. Said tonic was highly distilled white alcohol—very calming for frayed nerves. The only real scare they'd had all night (or day, he supposed) was a sudden influx of Stormcloak soldiers from a nearby encampment.

Given that the Rift had been under Imperial control for the better part of six months, and that the newly-independent Skyrim was still in transition, there was more than a bit of tension resulting from their arrival. That is, until they revealed that they had received word from the Jarl of Riften that unrest had been stirring in the city and she had called for a little extra assistance to keep the populace under control. Things deescalated from there rather quickly, to the point where the two Dragon Knights were all but unneeded. They kept an eye on things anyway, until around sunset, when the sun cleared up and began to shine once more.

And then, after over twenty-four hours of near-uninterrupted consciousness (they switched off napping during the lulls), _then_ they went to sleep at Brynjolf's house. Thus, why they woke up in his bed. His very, _very_ comfortable bed.

Brynjolf's eyes drifted closed as he placed a sleepy kiss on Lydia's cheek.

"Bryn?"

"Hm?" he grunted drowsily.

She sighed and held him close, cradling his head to her chest. "Go back to sleep, love." She smiled and stroked his hair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Mmkay."

He nuzzled her chest and held her back, effectively using her as a pillow, as had been her intention. "Love you," he mumbled.

She sighed and smiled against his forehead. "I love you too." She kissed his temple and closed her eyes. "Always."

…

Hard panting permeated the air of Lake Ilinalta's edge, coming from a large blanket spread out along the shoreline. The two culprits were laid out completely bare, lying next to each other as they faced the sky. They exchanged a look, satisfied smiles on their faces.

"So," he huffed.

She smiled wider, staring at the sky. "So."

"Is this gonna be the rest of our lives?"

She cocked her head curiously.

"Every time we stare at each other too long, we immediately start ripping each other's clothes off?"

Serana chuckled breathlessly, her grin utterly gleeful as she spoke between laughs. "Oh _gods_ , I hope so."

Ketar huffed a small laugh before tilting his head to one side and staring into the noonday sun. "Me too."

She arched a raven eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"

He nodded slowly and rolled onto his side to face her. "Yeah." His hand reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, lips quirking. "I can think of worse ways to spend my time."

Serana rolled to face him fully, biting her lower lip. "You know, it could get in the way sometimes."

"Really?" He scooted a bit closer, curling one arm around her back while she looped hers around his neck. "How so?"

She pouted a bit and looked toward the sky. "Well, if we get into a jam, and our eyes meet mid-fight…"

Ketar snorted. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

She chuckled. "You _are_ pretty distracting."

"Hmm," he nuzzled her hair and kissed her cheek, "so are you. Which was why I couldn't even look your way during the fight outside Arkngthamz."

Serana frowned in thought, a flash in her eyes following a moment later. "Oh, that." She smirked. "Well, you were still a virgin then—and _extremely_ inexperienced with women."

Ketar grinned. "More like _woman_ , singular." He whispered against her lips. "Because you are the only one I _ever_ want this with."

Her eyes slipped shut, an elated smile spreading over her lips. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

His smile thinned a bit. "But…eventually—"

He was silenced by her index on his lips. "Don't—don't go there, Kay." Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his intensely. "You're it, understand?"

Ketar blinked once, lips pursed, before nodding stiffly and holding her close, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

Serana frowned as soon as he couldn't see her face. She needed no reminders of his finite nature. His little slip, however, reminded her of something from a few weeks back; of a conversation she'd shared with Lord Zhanikan right before he went to speak to Ketar and Marius. Something that gave her something she never thought she'd have on that front: hope.

…

 _Serana made a point of seeking out Lord Zhanikan after the proceedings were finished, while Ketar was distracted with catching up with Marius._

 _"Your highness."_

 _He turned to her and smiled warmly, bowing slightly in greeting. "Lady Serana—or should I say 'Lady Dov'?"_

 _She smiled and bowed in return. "If you insist on being called Zhan, then Serana will do fine."_

 _Zhan chuckled. "As you wish." His head tilted slightly. "What can I do for you?"_

 _Her lips pursed. "I was about to ask you that. What you've done for Ketar…for Skyrim—"_

 _"Is just what friends do. Nothing more, nothing less."_

 _"But this isn't even your home. And before you'd met him in Jorrvaskr, you didn't even know Ketar's name."_

 _His head shook. "Not so. You may not know this, having never left, but even outside of Skyrim, the legend of the Last Dragonborn has spread far and wide. Such a figure, like the Nerevar or the Hero of Kvatch, only appears in time of great crisis and need, but unlike either of them, I had the opportunity to meet this one." His lips pursed as he gave a laughing Ketar a glance. "Simply put, I wanted to know the man behind the legend."_

 _Serana arched an eyebrow. "And? Did he live up to it?"_

 _Zhanikan smiled wistfully, almost sadly. "Blew it out of the water." He inhaled a sharp breath and turned back to her. "Which reminds me: I've actually been meaning to talk to you for a while now."_

 _She frowned. "What about?"_

 _His lips pursed tightly. "Bard informed me some time ago that you have…concerns about your husband. Specifically regarding his, shall we say…longevity."_

 _Her face hardened a bit as she cast the nearby Lord Protector a glance. "Did he now?" When she turned back, Zhan was shifting awkwardly._

 _"So you told him this in confidence…I see." He smiled ruefully. "Try not to be too hard on him." A curious glint entered his golden eyes. "He wouldn't have told me anything if he didn't think I could help."_

 _Serana's heart skipped a beat, and anything she would've said was stopped cold. She carefully considered her next words, licking her lips once as she eyed him warily. "And…can you?"_

 _At that, Zhanikan smiled widely, confidently, and tipped his head in a short nod. "I can."_

 _She stared at him blankly. "How?"_

 _His smile turned to a cheeky smirk. "Come visit your new home in Zhanik'la and I'll show you." He nodded at Ketar. "And make sure to bring him, of course."_

 _"Of course," she replied, nerves and excitement messing with her stomach in equal measure. Serana gulped hard, then cast a narrow-eyed glance at Bard's profile before returning her attention to the royal. "Wait…if he knew you had something that could help…why didn't he just say so? Did he just not yet trust me with that knowledge?"_

 _Zhanikan's head cocked. "Well…no, not exactly. It's more like…" He sighed. "He wanted you to make your decision first."_

 _She blinked. "What do you mean?"_

 _"I mean…if you'd known there was another way, would you have said yes to him?"_

 _"Unquestioningly."_

 _He nodded slowly. "Of course." He held up a finger. "But then, a part of you would always wonder if that was the deal breaker."_

 _She blinked. "You mean…" her eyes widened in realization, "like Ketar—he can't grow attached to anyone but me."_

 _Another nod. "And you probably wondered whether that was the main reason he was proposing."_

 _"I did…for a brief time."_

 _"You don't anymore?"_

 _She smiled widely and cast a long, adoring look at her husband. "I don't."_

 _"That's exactly the certainty Bard wanted for you. For both of you."_

 _Serana blinked and turned her eyes to Gorshun's back. "He wanted to make sure I was saying yes for the right reasons. It was all a test."_

 _Zhanikan shrugged. "Pretty much, yes."_

 _She snorted an incredulous laugh. "That conniving little bastard."_

 _Zhan grinned. "Yes indeed, but it worked, didn't it?"_

 _"Like a charm," she grudgingly admitted._

 _"And that, fair lady, is why he is my closest confidant." He cast a long look at his friend, something darkening in his eyes. "In many ways…he is a far better and wiser man than I could ever hope to be."_

 _She noticed his mood drop. "I'm sure that isn't true."_

 _He smiled ruefully. "A question better left to historians, I think."_

 _"Probably." Serana pursed her lips again. "You're not jerking me around, are you?"_

 _Zhanikan's expression immediately turned deadly serious. "This is not a matter about which I could ever be capable of jesting."_

 _She gulped. "Understood."_

 _His head tipped down slightly, eyes hard and focused as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Just remember what I said."_

 _Serana nodded. "I will."_

 _With a final nod of acknowledgement, Lord Zhanikan released her and strode off toward Ketar and his old friend._

…

Serana's eyes were completely shut as she listened to her husband breathe, his heart thumping in her ear like a metronome. She took a long breath in through her nose, inhaling a scent that was all Ketar, and kissed her way up to his neck, where she nipped him gently. He sighed hard, his arms tightening around her protectively. A fierce surge of warmth spread throughout her chest as she pressed herself further into his grasp.

"You have," she whispered, "no idea…how treasured I feel…every time you so much as put your arm around me."

Ketar sighed again, contentedly, as his breath tickled her hair. "I've never felt so wanted in my life. Ever." He chuckled. "And not just my body, either."

"Nope. I told you, it's just a representation of what's in here." She kissed his chest for emphasis and gently jabbed her fangs into the skin there, though not enough to break the surface.

He hissed sharply, though his voice was hardly pained. "Sera…"

 _Crack!_

Serana's eyes opened as the noise of a snapping twig reached her ears from quite a distance off. A sigh came from her throat as she pushed herself up to look down at him. "There's someone coming."

He blinked and frowned. "Coming here?"

She nodded wearily and reached for her discarded smallclothes. "Hunters, by the scent of them. Or maybe trappers."

He too sighed and did the same. "It _is_ springtime. I suppose it was only a matter of time before we ran across some."

Serana smiled. "Don't worry, we'll get back to it once we're inside."

Ketar's head shook slowly. "You are insatiable, you know that?"

"Vampire stamina," she pointed out.

He groaned and fell back once his smallclothes were back on. "Don't remind me."

Serana faceplanted on his chest and cuddled him tightly as their unexpected visitors approached.

"Afternoon," Ketar called out once they came out of the trees, a group comprised entirely of women garbed in furs.

They cast him a brief look before the hardest-looking one, a tall blonde with an exposed midriff and a scar running down through her right eye, focused on Serana. "Are you the owners of that house?" She pointed at Lakeview Manor.

Serana pursed her lips, getting an odd feeling from this bunch. "We are."

She exchanged a look with her comrades before drawing a bow from her back and readying an arrow. "Then you won't mind if we help ourselves to some of it."

Ketar and Serana blinked at them, then each other, and back at them.

"Gods know you have more than enough."

Ketar blinked once, twice, before shaking his head slightly and raising a finger. "Hold up—are you…robbing us?"

The blonde woman stared at him before nodding emphatically. " _Yes_!"

Serana once again exchanged a look with her husband before they both broke out into uproarious laughter. The would-be bandits looked at each other before they started shouting at the couple to quiet down and cooperate. Of course, that only made them laugh harder. When they finally calmed enough to speak, it was Serana who addressed them first.

"I-I'm sorry," she managed between laughs. "It's just…you're going to feel _really_ stupid in a few minutes."

The blonde glared at her, drawing the arrow back further. "Not as stupid as you will when I put an arrow through your throat. Now, point us to the best bits—" her eyes flickered to Ketar's half-clad form and lips quirked with a hungry smile, "—and give us some alone time with the meat. That should teach you not to mouth off, insolent wench."

Ketar's eyes immediately widened, though not in fear—well, not for himself, anyway. "Um…ladies?"

"I'm sorry," Serana chuckled dangerously as she climbed to her feet, the bow tracking her, "are you talking…about _him_?" She pointed at Ketar.

"What of it?" the bandit leader demanded.

"You want to take…my husband? To _have_ …my husband?"

"Ladies," Ketar tried to interrupt, "you might want to start ru—" He was cut off when Serana abruptly slapped and grabbed his butt, her lips turned in a predatory smile.

"This," she hissed, "is _mine_. _He_ is mine. This house is mine. And for _your_ insolence, I'm going to rip _your_ throat out barehanded." She grinned widely, all teeth. "Or perhaps with _these_."

Serana bared her fangs and hissed savagely, playing the part of a stereotypical vampire to a tee. The response was about as expected: panicked shrieks and releasing of an arrow that she easily caught and tossed aside, followed by loud, manic cackles that followed the fleeing bandits into the forest. Meanwhile, Ketar just lay back on the blanket and sighed as he shook his head.

"That woman _really_ scares me sometimes."

…

As a Nord and lifetime resident of Skyrim, Agmaer was well-accustomed to the cold. Winterhold, however, was a special kind of freezing. Perhaps the most notable and interesting feature of hanging around the College with Brelyna and Dolotlah was the sheer amount of magic that surrounded them at any given point. It got to the point that he sometimes had to shut his left eye (which seemed to stop his "magic vision," as Lyn had taken to calling it) just to avoid being distracted by what he was seeing. If his eyelid didn't block those magical auras from reaching him, he might not have been able to sleep at all…not that they did for their first thirty-six hours in Winterhold.

Quite the contrary.

Almost immediately after they'd arrived, the "day of night" Ketar had warned them about got started. And where in the rest of Skyrim, he'd been worried about various unruly citizens starting riots, Ketar's primary concern in Winterhold, and more specifically at the College itself, was a lynch mob. Ever since the Great Collapse of nearly a hundred years earlier, the local Nords had looked at the untouched institution with fear and mistrust, to the point where the College of Winterhold had had to close their gates and post guards to make sure no one stirred up trouble. Twenty-four hours of night would, he feared, exacerbate the problem to the point of open violence.

So why risk all this chaos for the start of a honeymoon?

Twofold reasons: first, because he wanted some uninterrupted time of rest and enjoyment with his wife without forcing her to endure the "Tyranny of the Sun"; and second, because he needed to know that the _Dov'vahlokke_ were ready and capable to defend the people of Skyrim in his absence. To some, foisting the responsibility for the consequences of such a unilateral decision onto others may have seemed callous, but to Agmaer, who knew Ketar fairly well—and more specifically what and how much he'd been doing recently—seeing that he was able to properly delegate tasks of great importance brought a sigh of relief.

He'd been running himself far too ragged of late, even for a demigod. Though his romantic feelings for Serana were all but nonexistent now, Agmaer still felt a fierce protectiveness and loyalty for her. As such, seeing how much she'd worried over Ketar, especially after her near-death at Miraak's hands, had hurt him deeply. If Ketar had gone on like that for much longer, he'd have given her or himself a heart attack. Fortunately, the Dragonborn was smart and stable enough to realize when he was being an ass and get things back on track before they'd gotten too far out of hand.

But Agmaer had done far too much thinking about his new boss and not enough about his new girlfriend. Well, not quite new now, but having someone like that to talk with and hold and grow with…he could more than understand how furiously Ketar had once assaulted Isran—and there he went again, comparing himself to Ketar. Brelyna understood the habit perfectly, even shared it to some extent. That didn't make it any less irritating when they spotted the behavior in themselves or each other. Though, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, Agmaer could definitely have picked a worse role model, even if Ketar was barely any older than him.

At any rate, their task was one Agmaer had accepted readily, especially given how important he knew the College to be to Brelyna. As Ketar had feared, a mob had formed in front of the College entrance within hours of the early nightfall, though not, perhaps, for the reason he'd expected. More specifically, they blamed the College for the blotting out of the sun (which, considering who'd fired the arrow, was at least partially true). Despite Tolfdir's best efforts to calm the crowd, the Nords had eventually rushed the gates and used their full weight to hammer them until they were nearly collapsing, even with their powerful wards in place.

At which point every single Dragon Knight in the College had taken to the skies and hovered around the half-crumbled causeway leading to the campus. The wingbeats of three dragons flanking the mob on every side might've cowed anyone else into submission, but quite the contrary happened in this case. Seeing as how word of the Dragon Knights' existence hadn't quite gotten around Skyrim just yet, they interpreted the appearance of the dragons as an unholy alliance between the mages and the wyrms threatening their home and became even more aggressive as a result.

What ensued in the hours immediately following was a protracted skirmish during which the Dragon Knights and their mounts drove the crowd back into the town and repelled several attempts to reenter the College grounds, mostly via flame wall. They didn't attack any of them outright—until someone had gotten the bright idea to roll out a powerful magic staff pilfered from a former College student and sniped Brelyna off Dolotlah's back.

At which point even Agmaer's "magic" eye saw red.

Dolotlah had, fortunately, caught a slightly crispy Brelyna before she hit the ground, but Agmaer had a hyper-advanced crossbow, he wanted blood, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. Of course, given their directive from Ketar, he'd aimed for non-critical points, but still. He wanted them to hurt, both for their aggression against Brelyna, and the ignorance that led to this whole mess—that they insisted on continuing despite all the good their mage neighbors had done. A group his Brelyna happened to be a part of.

Given his position as Grand Inquisitor, Agmaer took it upon himself to find the ringleader of this not-so-little riot and isolate them while the others kept the mob busy. When he finally tracked them down, his search revealed Thaena, the Jarl's wife and housecarl and a stalwart hater of the College and its denizens. As a fellow Nord—and extremely pissed off—Agmaer challenged her to a duel in front of her entire crowd of followers. The fact that he was both a non-mage and a dragon rider already began to call the credibility of her "crusade" into question. That he handily beat her into the ground—with his bare fists at the tail end of the fight—all but settled the matter. The feral, terrifying look on his face was the final nail in the coffin.

The rest of the rioters fled back to their homes pretty soon after that, and Agmaer all but dragged Thaena from the town square in shackles. When asked by the furious Jarl Korir what he intended to do with her, he simply replied that given the Jarl's personal bias, both on her behalf and against the College, she would have to answer to a higher court. On the heels of this, he assigned J'zargo and Onmund to fly Thaena to Whiterun on the back of their dragon to stand trial before the new High King. The reasoning behind this was double: to ensure the expedited trial of a notorious troublemaker, and to start building credibility for mages and dragons alike by delivering a criminal to her final destination unmolested.

From there, the Jarl and Agmaer spoke at length, with Brelyna and Tolfdir as attendants, to ensure an outburst of anarchy like that never happened again. He tried his hardest not to deliver the stubborn Nord an ultimatum, but some stiff necks only bent to superior force. Thus, Agmaer was forced to declare that the College and its surrounding territory were under the protection of the Dragon Knights, both mount and rider. They would see the law was enforced, with the implication of "even if you won't." He was sure Jarl Korir got the message.

After the fact, and the sun returned to the sky just in time for sunset, Agmaer spent the rest of his waking hours holding Brelyna as close as possible, despite the fact that she was virtually untouched due to her natural Dunmer resistance to fire. She mostly found his overprotective streak amusing—and adorable—so she permitted it. That closeness hadn't changed until well after dawn the following day. Which is where they found themselves now, sitting at a table laden with a late breakfast/early lunch, with Brelyna bent over a thick book and Agmaer's hand never leaving hers.

Every so often, she cast him a glance and a smile, which he pretended not to notice as he read over the missives delivered to him from Whiterun by Onmund.

"You're staring, dear."

Brelyna pouted. "Am not."

"Are too." He looked up from his reading and leaned back in his seat. "You gaze at me lovingly when you think I'm not looking."

She gave him a cheeky smile. "Oh really?"

He shrugged. "How would I know? I'm not looking."

Brelyna laughed and leaned into him, gently kissing his cheek. "You're ridiculously cute sometimes, you know that?"

Agmaer grinned. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

"Mmm, good to know." She laid one on him quite smackingly, then pulled away and returned to her book.

Agmaer stopped in his tracks, staring at her and trying to fight back the wave of ardor threatening to grip him. "Lyn?"

"Mhm?" she asked distractedly.

"Do you ever think about getting out of the library?"

Brelyna shot him a look. "What are you talking about? We just stopped a civil war."

He cleared his throat. "What I mean is: have you considered _learning_ outside the library? I mean, when we first worked together, we spent the better part of ten minutes searching a crypt for answers about a cursed necklace. And, despite all the homicidal Draugr, I…enjoyed being there with you."

She set the book down and tilted her head curiously.

"What I guess I'm trying to say is…I'd love to do something like that again, go on adventures to help expand your berth of knowledge." He smirked. "And given your position as Chief Scholar, and mine as Grand Inquisitor, I bet we could kill two birds with one stone doing it. You hunt down rare knowledge, which I know from experience attracts all sorts of dangerous people, and I dispose of anyone who attempts to misuse that knowledge."

Brelyna laughed and pressed her forehead to his, arms around his neck. "You don't have to jump through all those hoops to spend time with me, you know." She smiled warmly. "You had me at 'adventure.'"

Agmaer smiled back and kissed her slowly, longingly, the Dunmer girl humming in content and slowly shifting herself into his lap. As they gradually lost themselves in each other, there was an unspoken agreement to remain at each other's sides into the indefinite future. Nord, Dunmer, soldier, scholar, lover, friend…whatever else they were, whatever they would become, they were knights and adventurers first.

And that was something they would _always_ have in common.

…

"Sera, what did you do to them?"

"Don't worry, I didn't make any permanent damage…" she grinned, "on the outside."

Ketar's eyes rolled as he rolled up the last of their picnic and began trudging back to the house.

Serana snatched up half of his load and threw him a challenging smile. He caught on immediately and raced her to the house, both of them throwing their loads on the long dining table in the main hall of the manor. She leapt into his arms, and he swung her around in the air, eventually setting her down and giving her a long, deep kiss.

"Mm…Kay?"

"Mhm?"

"Had an—ahh—idea."

"Mmmkay?"

"About where we should have the honeymoon."

He stopped and drew back, frowning a bit. "Thought we were already there."

She chewed her lower lip and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Well, yes, but…we have a month to ourselves, love. I want to make the most of it, and neither of us has been outside of Skyrim in years…unless you count Solstheim."

His face fell flat. "I don't."

Serana chuckled. "Yeah, same."

Ketar's head cocked curiously. "So what did you have in mind?"

"Well…we do have an as-yet unused wedding gift…"

His eyebrows shot upward. "You want to take our honeymoon in Zhanik'la."

Serana smiled and stroked his hair. "Think about it. A new land, new sights, new people. And we already have friends there."

 _And,_ she added mentally, _hopefully, the means to truly promise each other "forever."_

Ketar seemed to toss the idea around in his head a few times before grinning. "Sure."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, we'd have to come up with a way to get there, but…I relish the challenge. And the adventure."

She laughed and squished his face into her chest. "You're such an adrenaline junkie."

His face was a little red from where it'd been moments earlier. "Have you seen my life so far?"

"Well duh. Never said that was a bad thing."

Serana opened her mouth wide and brought her lips down on his shoulder, gently nibbling on his bare skin and making him laugh.

"That tickles!"

She grinned around his shoulder and kept chewing. "Thought you weren't ticklish," she mumbled between bites.

At that, his eyes widened comically, and she immediately ambushed his sides with her fingers. All told, he gave as good as he got, but was forced to flee across the house to keep them on even terms, all the way to a sparring ring he'd built into a side room. To be fair, he wasn't _nearly_ as ticklish as her, but if she found just the right spot, she got him squirming quite nicely.

"This—" she gasped after a few minutes, "—isn't getting us anywhere."

He nodded breathlessly and slumped against her panting form. "Agreed."

Serana smirked and kissed his neck. "That reminds me…"

"What?"

She got up and dusted herself off, standing over him—still in her bathing suit—and striking a pose. "We've never settled who's the better fighter."

Ketar stared at her and leaned back on his hands with a smug air. "I think my track record speaks for itself."

"No, no—the better _fighter_. No magic, no weapons. Just you and me, barehanded."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "I admit…I am a bit curious myself." His head cocked. "Though…I can't say I've ever seen you fight without a weapon. Well, maybe once or twice, typically when you're too angry for technique."

"I can hold my own," she assured him.

Ketar smirked and climbed to his feet. "Oh I'm sure you can, but can you hold your own against _me_?"

She grinned toothily. "Let's find out."

He cleared his throat and nodded at her half-naked form. "Sure you don't want to put something on first?"

Serana glanced at herself and shrugged. "Yep. Same goes for you." A smirk. "After all, how else will we make sure there aren't any surprises?"

Ketar's jaw worked as his eyes fought to avoid her exposed skin. "Okay," he hissed through his teeth, falling into a closed-fist fighting stance.

She remained smirking as her feet spread apart, and she sunk into a half-crouch, with her hands out in front and one open hand lined up behind the other. They paced around each other for a good minute or so, each testing the other's movements and flow with slight, jerky movements intended to gauge their opponent's reflexes. The issue was that they'd fought together so long and so often that they practically knew in advance what the other was going to do. As a result, neither flinched or moved until they fully committed.

The first of these commitments was a low lunge by Ketar with his left leg, a sweep kick that was leapt over just in the nick of time. He had to keep careful focus on her face and eyes to avoid having his gaze drawn to her…bouncier bits. Serana noticed this and took advantage by moving the parts of her furthest from his focus in a roundhouse kick aimed at the side of his head. He ducked under and lunged for her midsection with a full-on bear hug. Even before her kicking leg came down, she bent the one on the ground and fell into a deep crouch, bracing herself to thrust an elbow into his gut.

Ketar staggered slightly, just enough for Serana to snap her legs forward and interlock her ankles around his foreleg. Her hips pivoted sharply, nearly taking him to the ground, but instead of fighting the motion, he rolled with it—literally. A full 360 motion brought him to a firm kneeling crouch that eliminated Serana's leverage and allowed him to grab her by the shoulders. A flex of his back muscles and explosive extension of his hips sent her flying behind him. She rolled on impact with the ground, spinning back toward him on the way up and snapping her head to the side when he launched a palm at her face. Somehow, he was getting faster with every motion, and Serana began to realize that perhaps it wasn't a matter of speed, but of confidence.

As he'd said before the fight began, he'd never really seen her fight unarmed with any sort of technique. The more she struck, the more she moved, the more he learned, and the sooner he figured out how to beat her. A backfist to his face slapped against his palm as he caught her fist outright, following the strike with a flat hand to the ear that he slapped away, using that same hand to grip her neck and thrust a knee at her lower ribs. She jumped straight upward with what little mobility she had, wrapping her legs around his waist and pivoting her body sharply backward. The motion threw him off-balance, but didn't quite pull him off the ground. Off-balance was enough.

Especially when she leaned even closer to him, close enough to grind her upper body against his and ghost her breath over his skin. The heat that filled his face and the way his eyes widened told her the tactic was working, so she took full advantage and lunged for his neck with her teeth, grazing the tips of her fangs against his skin. He gasped sharply, body tense, and seemed to grasp about for some way to get her off. Lips curling in a predatory smile, Serana scraped her fangs up his neck, leaving shallow scratches on his skin until her lips were next to his ear.

"If this were a real fight," she whispered, "it would already be over."

"If this were a real fight—" he hissed through his teeth.

Ketar pivoted his hips and pinned her to the ground with his forearm across her clavicle.

"—I wouldn't have to worry about being rough."

Serana grinned and leaned closer to him, their faces inches apart. "What if I _like_ it rough?"

His blue eyes darkened with desire, distracting him long enough for her to hook one of her legs around the opposite side of his torso and pivot sideways, launching him onto his back and allowing her to straddle him. Her hands immediately locked around his head, blocking his vision to everything but her face and inhibiting his ability to gauge where her vulnerabilities were.

"Give up yet?" she taunted.

His hands found her hips, a return smirk creasing his lips. "As if."

And immediately, he began tickling her sides, loosening her grip on him just long enough to throw her clear. She barrel-rolled away, quickly regaining her footing.

"That was a dirty trick."

"You're one to talk. Besides, you just said no magic or weapons."

Jaw tightening, Serana smiled at the challenge. "Well…if that's how it is…"

Ketar's eyes widened as she reached toward her back and began untangling the laces of her bindings. "W-What are you doing?"

"If you want to play—" her chest wrapping fell to the ground, leaving her completely bare from the waist up, "—then let's play."

A mere split-second after she said this, she came in with a barrage of lightning-fast strikes that he warded off with some difficulty. In the process, she hit several of his pressure points and weakened his defenses by sending him recoiling in pain. A hard palm drove directly into his solar plexus, thoroughly knocking the wind out of him and practically folding him in half. That left him vulnerable to a dive over his back with her arms wrapped around the base of his left as she leapt to his right, using her momentum and hips to throw him face-down over her shoulder. A second later, she was straddling his back with her legs wrapped around his, her toes digging into the hard muscles of his thighs.

She grabbed his hair and gently yanked his head back, exposing his neck and raking her teeth over his throbbing pulse point.

"I win," she growled hungrily.

He shuddered with pain at the awkward angle he was being bent into and no small amount of excitement. "You cheated."

Serana laughed. "As I told you months ago, all is fair in love and war." She laid a long, lingering kiss on his neck as her voice softened. "And I love you… _so_ much."

She held him closer, slowly uncurling her legs from his and loosening her grip on his hair. That proved a mistake. The moment he had enough leverage, he pivoted their bodies and landed back-first on her, quickly spinning himself around and pinning her to the ground with his hands on her wrists. Using his arms to bring her wrists together, he kept them there with just one of his much larger hands, the other tracing patterns all across her exposed skin. When she started to squirm, he laid a long, openmouthed kiss on her neck, lips going along the parts of her he knew made her squirm even more.

"Kay," she whined in frustration.

"All is fair, Sera. You're not the only one who can flirt your way out of a fight."

She sent him a small glare. "This isn't flirting. This is torture."

Ketar gave her a feral grin. "Now you know how it felt all those weeks before and after you refused my proposal."

Her eyes widened.

"You think I felt any less frustrated with the way you'd walk around with practically nothing on, swaying those hips with that teasing smile?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her face. "You have _no_ idea how difficult it was to keep my oath."

"I believe— _ahh_ —that was the point."

"Oh, I know it was. You're a little temptress, my love."

Serana whined again and sent him an adoring look. "Only for you, handsome. Now would you please— _uuugggh_ —stop teasing me."

"Nope."

" _Why_?"

Ketar smirked. "You didn't say the magic words."

"Please!"

His head shook. "Nope. Not quite. Good start though."

It took a few more seconds of frustration for her mind to catch up to what he meant. "…I yield."

With that, he slowly released her wrists and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "Good girl."

She curled her arms around his head, fingers tangling in and stroking his hair as they embraced tenderly. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting and holding his intensely.

Serana smiled warmly. "Again?"

Ketar smiled back and pressed his forehead to hers. "If you'd like. I'm perfectly content to just stare at you."

She grabbed his hair a little more firmly with a cheeky smile. "Well I'm not."

His eyes slipped shut and head tilted to one side, exposing his neck. "Then take me, Sera."

Serana hesitated only a moment before sinking her fangs into his skin and catapulting both of them into an intense torrent of pure bliss.

…

"So this is where you've lived all this time?"

Valerica frowned. "Well, not quite. I actually lived on the other side of a portal in the tower for a while." Her voice darkened. "Though not by choice."

Kodlak strode from one end of the Volkihar great hall to the other, sniffing the air and closing his eyes as he took in the ruined castle. "Something died in here, a long time ago."

She smiled ruefully. "Dear, a great many things died in here. Not the least being the castle's former tenants at the hand of Ketar and the Dawnguard."

He nodded slowly, glancing at a side passage whose edges were littered with debris. "Where does that lead?"

Valerica blinked and pursed her lips. "It's…private."

Kodlak arched a white eyebrow at her. "More private than escorting you inside your home…alone?"

She sighed. "I suppose you have a point. Come then."

He followed her through the passage, glancing around at scattered tools and barrows filled with debris. "Did you dig out all of this?"

She glanced back at him. "I did. Having very little need for sleep and nothing better to do leaves one with a great deal of time on their hands."

His eyebrows hiked upward. "And I suppose the same could be said of this place?"

"Indeed."

Valerica had to admit, the garden was coming along nicely. She'd re-planted most of what she'd had before leaving for the Soul Cairn, plus a few extra growths, most notably the soul husks found in the Cairn. In addition to preserving the strength of a body with only half a soul, the husks were remarkably adept at retaining "memories" when spun into fibers in a material. In short, they molded to and remembered their first wearer to create a perfect fit. It was what Serana's wedding dress had largely been made of. The perfect fit also made it _extremely_ easy to take off, which, she was certain, helped on their wedding night.

That certainty had lasted until Serana informed her that her husband's impatience ended the dress's life by tearing it in half. She'd promised to make her daughter another one soon. At present, however, Valerica had slightly more immediate concerns. Specifically, observing how Kodlak reacted to her (mostly) restored garden. The look on his unnaturally pale face was between pensive and serene, which made her a little uneasy. For all her years of experience, Kodlak Whitemane was extraordinarily difficult to read when he wanted to be. That only intensified after she turned him.

Despite his apparent lack of love for any form of Daedric hybridization, Kodlak hadn't seemed to be in any hurry to cure himself of vampirism, perhaps because he realized what the giving of Valerica's blood meant to her. She meant to find out by the end of the day.

"So? What do you think?"

Kodlak smirked wryly. "Why so nervous, milady?"

Valerica blinked and snorted derisively. "What reason have I to be nervous?"

He placed his hands on his hips. "By your own admission, you haven't had actual guests in many years. Some would find themselves self-conscious of their own manners—or lack thereof."

"Are you calling me rude?" she asked with crossed arms.

"Not at all, milady." He threw her a cheeky smile. "Just nervous."

Valerica rolled her glowing eyes and cast a look on a bed of flowers nearby, cocking her head and grabbing a nearby garden kettle when she spotted two sagging stalks. She felt more than heard him approach her back. "Something you need?"

"No, nothing. I just enjoy watching you work."

She blinked and frowned, focusing on said work while feeling a little uncomfortable with his eyes on her back. Uncomfortable…in the most pleasant of ways.

"Dragon's tongues," said Kodlak. "Beautiful."

Valerica glanced back at him in surprise. "You're familiar with these flowers?"

"Not intimately, but I would be hard-pressed to find a Nord who couldn't appreciate the blossoms." Kodlak looked around the room with a peaceful smile. "This is a beautiful place, milady. Far more inviting than the rest of the cold stone, if I may say so."

His declaration was like a kick to the gut for her. "I've…always thought so too." She frowned. "Even before…" a sigh, "my late husband…never quite appreciated the significance of such a room."

Kodlak frowned. "Then your husband was a fool."

Valerica laughed bitterly. "That he was, among many _far_ more deplorable things."

His head tilted. "That's the first I've ever heard you speak of him."

Her jaw tightened. "Harkon is not a topic I wish to discuss with any frequency. He was a…dark part of my past. A madman bent on world domination, just like Miraak."

"Who also gave you Serana."

Her eyes slipped shut as she sighed hard. "Yes. Just about the only good thing he ever did."

Kodlak drew closer, his hands ghosting over her arms. "But you still loved him."

Valerica just stared at the ground. "…yes. A part of me still does." She took a deep breath. "But I love the man he was…" she looked up at him, "and that person died long before his body did."

The vampiric Harbinger's lips pursed. "It isn't my intention to replace anyone."

She sighed and held his hands in hers. "I know. Same for me. I just…" a hard sigh, "you're the first person in centuries who I've allowed to get…close. If I start to pull away, I just… _need_ you to understand why."

Kodlak's face shifted with compassion. "Val, I never expected to walk into this with you and come out perfect. There are history and scars on both our ends, things that color our thoughts and decisions in ways even we don't fully understand. Your daughter and son-in-law don't quite have that difficulty. Though almost as old as you, she spent most of her life sleeping, and Ketar—"

"Is barely an adult to begin with."

He chuckled. "Exactly." His expression sharpened. "My point is: our experiences have shaped who we are, taught us irreplaceable lessons and the value of patience. They also damaged us in ways that can affect our behavior in an unexpected—and harmful—manner. As long as we understand that about each other now, going in, you needn't apologize in advance for acting on what hardship has taught you." He smiled ruefully. "Truth be told, if you didn't have some fight in you, I think I'd get bored."

Surprised but undeterred, Valerica grinned. "Is that right?"

He turned his chin up at her. "I may be an old head, but I am still a warrior, and this blood of yours has made me feel younger than I have in many a year."

Her head cocked a bit. "You look it, too."

Kodlak smirked. "You didn't seem to complain when I didn't."

Valerica reached out and ran her fingers through his white hair, the braided locks flowing through her fingers like studded leather. "That's because you still had _this_ , Whitemane."

He stroked his thick beard thoughtfully. "I've actually been thinking about cutting it."

She shot him a fierce look. "Don't you dare." She caught a hint of a smirk on his face and gently tugged on his hair to bring his face closer to hers. "This hair is _staying_ , Whitemane, or I'll have to find something else to call you—which will greatly annoy me."

His lips twitched. "I might do it anyway, if only to see how you might take out that frustration."

A half-crazed glint entered Valerica's sunset-colored eyes. "Careful, Whitemane. You're playing with fire."

Kodlak drew closer, using his large bulk to completely overshadow her. "Already been burned for you once; it wasn't so bad." He grinned. "But don't assume I'll roll over and obey just because you tell me so."

Valerica chuckled aggressively, her fingers tightening in his hair. "If you did, I would be vastly disappointed."

"Then break me if you can, Val."

A heated thrill passed through her veins as he uttered her name, feelings as she hadn't felt in centuries stirred at the feel and scent of him. Looking up into his eyes, so much like hers, her vision flashed briefly with the image of another bearded Nord, this one with cropped hair black as night. But no matter how long she stared at and thought about that image, it couldn't possibly hope to compare to the warmth in the eyes of the man holding her in his arms. Were they in love? Not quite. Friends? Most certainly. Lovers?

Valerica grinned. _Getting there._

Most of all, were they permanent fixtures in each other's lives? As she leaned in to press her lips to his, and their shared blood deepened the connection, sending a flood of warmth and emotions that nearly choked her with their intensity…

Dear gods, she hoped so.

…

In the aftermath of yet another marital tryst, Ketar was left with a whirlpool of impossibly strong emotions and the striking realization that his sparring ring was going to need some cleaning. It took him a second to realize that the first bit wasn't entirely on his part, but residue from their mental link on Serana's end.

She turned her eyes to his as she held his head against her shoulder. "Why did you lie to me about Cloud Ruler?"

Ketar blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? Lie about what?"

Her lips pursed tightly. "When we first met, you told me that the Thalmor tried to burn the temple down, but failed. I know from seeing your memories that that's not true."

He frowned, looking off to the side in contemplation. "Well…I guess what I meant wasn't so much that they failed to destroy the building as much as the people inside. I figured it wasn't that big of a difference anyway."

Serana searched his eyes intently. "But it is. You were forced to watch your childhood home burn to the ground, driving the final nail into the realization that everything you'd grown to rely on: the routine, the stability, even the people in your life—all that was about to change, and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it."

Ketar's jaw tightened as he met her gaze. "And that—that quick, intuitive mind of yours—that's why I didn't tell you the whole story. Because I knew you were sharp enough to piece all that together and…"

She blinked. "And what?"

He closed his eyes and sighed hard. "Sera, I didn't know you then, not really. With my past experiences with vampires, and what I'd heard about your family life…" he peered at her tentatively, "you were the last person I wanted to pity me."

Serana stared at him for a second or two before huffing an incredulous laugh. "It's a testament to how far we've come that you're even willing to _admit_ that."

Ketar smiled ruefully.

Her expression became serious. "Kay…I don't pity you."

"I know."

"I hurt for you."

A sigh. "I know."

She held him closer, stroking his bare back and sides. "Because I've been there, lived through that pain."

He pressed a kiss to the skin of her neck. "I know, love. I was a different person then. So were you, for that matter."

"That's fair."

"I had no idea what we would become, hadn't the faintest clue at the time. That's…part of why, when you proposed that meld on our wedding night, I immediately agreed. I didn't want there to be any secrets between us, even unintentional ones or gaps created by bent truth."

Serana frowned. "I wish I could say I'm as comfortable with you knowing about all _my_ dark secrets."

"What dark secrets?" He smirked. "Your previous lovers?"

She blushed.

His mirth faded. "Or is it the circumstances of acquiring your vampirism?"

Serana immediately went pale again.

Ketar smiled ruefully. "That's what I thought."

"I'm…not really comfortable with…it's…" she exhaled hard, "come to think of it, it's for about the same reason that you lied about the temple."

"I figured as much."

Serana took a deep breath. "But I guess that's one thing I just have to get over. The discomfort, I mean, not the…memories."

"No, not quite." He reached out and stroked her mussed hair away from her eyes. "Just learn to trust me with carrying it, same as I will with you."

She nodded into his chest, chuckling a moment later.

"What?"

"Just occurred to me: we defy the laws of nature."

"Why? Because we're borne of two opposite ends of the deity spectrum?"

"What? No. Well, yes, that, but more importantly…" she tangled her fingers in his hair, curling the longer locks around her forefinger, "we're so in-sync, so… _together_ that for us, one—" kiss, "—plus one—" kiss, "—equals one."

She kissed him slowly, longingly, drinking in his affection and pouring all of hers in return. It was a moment after they broke apart that he started laughing.

"That is," he managed between chuckles, " _unbelievably_ sappy."

"Damn right, and don't you ever forget it."

Ketar laughed and kissed her again, closing his eyes and laying his forehead against hers.

"I love you," she whispered.

He nodded into her hair. "I'll never forget that either." His dark blue eyes slipped open and found her sunset orange ones staring back. "I love you too."

She sighed and leaned her head into his chest, ear to his thumping heart. "Did you ever think we'd make it here?"

"Honestly? No."

She frowned up at him.

"My father created me for a purpose: to defeat Alduin. That's the only thing I was pretty much guaranteed to accomplish with my life and/or death. Miraak? Harkon? They were never part of the picture." He stroked her hair, holding her close to his chest. "I've pretty much stopped questioning my future or destiny, or whatever you want to call it." He smiled down at her warmly. "Long as you're with me, life can throw whatever it wants my way. I'll be ready."

Serana smiled and flicked his forehead. "You dope."

" _Your_ dope."

"Mhm." She squeezed his torso. "All mine."

His voice softened to a whisper in her hair. "From now until death do us part."

…

 _The skies were gray and dark, far more so than at any natural point of night or day. And the landscape was…Skyrim…but not. One step after another, she traversed the endless wastes of what had been her home, finding the very manor where she'd first seen a glimpse of what her love truly was, and what he was capable of. Only the particles falling from the sky weren't snow, but ash. And then she looked down and found the ground encased in igneous rock loosely connected by black tar. The further she went, the blurrier the landscape became, until she could see a massive, circular city divided into wedges. At its center was a tower of dark, pristine gray stone, reaching toward the very heavens._

 _At its edge were braziers of blue fire, fire that radiated no warmth or life and set a cord of uneasiness into her very bones. But what was truly disconcerting was the silhouette she saw in the opening gate: a massive throne made of twisted rock and human bones. And the equally massive, horned figure that sat atop it. It was a sight that sent an all-too-familiar shiver down her body, one she hadn't seen in centuries…and had hoped never to see again. His eyes burned with the same unholy blue fire as the braziers, the same as the night they'd met, and were the only visible features she could discern, as the rest of him was wreathed in darkness even her eyes could not penetrate. Though, a moment later, she could see a faint blue glow from where his maw-like mouth slowly opened._

 _"Welcome home…Daughter of Coldharbour."_

 _And with that declaration, the darkness around her swallowed her whole._

…

Serana woke screaming at the top of her lungs, her eyes wide with terror and arms failing about, as if fighting off some unseen attacker. When she actually felt someone touch her, she responded immediately, clocking him across the forehead with the back of her hand at full strength. As a result, a familiar black-haired form was sent flying back-first into the headboard—of their bed. Her eyes went wide again, this time in self-horror as she rushed over to his dazed form.

"Kay! Kay, are you—talk to me!"

"Stop shouting," he groaned, taking her hand and allowing himself to be pulled into a sitting position. Ketar glanced up at her tense features and winced. "Must've been some nightmare. I've been trying to wake you for a couple minutes now."

She frowned and avoided his gaze. "I'm…not used to having them. Especially none so intense."

"Really? When I was a vampire, I _hated_ sleep because of the constant fever dreams."

Sera gave him a rueful smile. "Pureblood perks, love."

Ketar smiled briefly before frowning and cupping her face. "Are you okay?"

She bit her lower lip and reached out a thumb to stroke the growing bruise on his forehead. "I should be asking you that."

He waved her hand off with a wince. "It's nothing. Small price to pay for the woman I love." His arms encircled her body as he spooned her, gently kissing the side of her neck. "Want to talk about it?"

Serana sighed. "Not really, but…I know you'll just keep hounding me."

"Tell me, love."

Her jaw tightened as her eyes closed, vision flashing with the image of that monstrous visage. "I saw…I saw him."

"Him who?"

Sera's eyes opened and looked back to meet his. "Molag Bal. He was in Coldharbour, on his throne…like a mirror image of Imperial City."

Ketar's lips pursed. "That's not surprising. He covets dominion of Nirn above all else, tried to take it once before. It only makes sense he'd pattern his realm of Oblivion on our world, and at least back when he was here last, there was no greater seat of power than the Imperial City."

She nodded slowly, looking off to the side. "He looked right at me…said, 'welcome home.' And then there was nothing but darkness…like when I was in Aetherius, but…that darkness wasn't protecting me. It was _devouring_ me." She looked back at him. "Am I going crazy? Or is this just a dream?"

Ketar frowned and thought for a while. "I think…confiscating his Mace may have put you in his sights."

"But that was _months_ ago, and I gave it to my mother for safekeeping."

"I don't know, but whatever the case, he can't hurt you here. The most he can do is send his acolytes to do his dirty work, and them we can handle."

Serana's lips pursed tightly. "You said he tried to conquer Nirn once. What if he tries again?"

Ketar turned her to face him and meet his intense blue gaze. "Then we will stop him, just like all the others." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You're not alone, Sera. You will never be alone again, I promise."

She smiled and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment as she felt the purity of his feelings and confidence running through their faint empathic link. "I know." Her eyes opened. "I love you, Ketar Niel Dov."

He smiled widely and kissed her soundly, whispering his reply against her lips. "I love you, Serana Volkihar Dov."

…

Future uncertain, time divergent, threats unknown.

This was the reality faced by every citizen of the mortal realm of Mundus. The difference between them and the extraordinary band of heroes known as the Order of Dragon Knights was the ability and—more importantly—the _will_ to do something about it. Mortal, immortal, dragon, human, vampire…the bonds of friendship bridged all such gaps. No longer was there separation brought about by ages of prejudice and conflict, but unity in purpose and commitment. Love of life, of peace, and of justice—these were the qualities forgotten and discarded by the two firstborn of Akatosh, both dragon and Dragonborn.

Enamored with their power and legend, they discarded the very purpose for which they were born, and in so doing sowed the seeds of their own downfall. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Once limited to the exploits of his direct descendants, through Ketar Dov, the influence of Akatosh extended far and wide, interlaced and connected across nations and continents through an alliance that, gods willing, would stand the test of time. And they _would_ be tested, time and time again, each time surging forth stronger than the last, but not in themselves. Their strength was not merely individual, for that was the old manner, adopted and perpetuated by the very tyrants and monsters they sought to overthrow.

Their strength was found in each other, in the comrades and loved ones they chose to stand beside them, in the alliances they forged, the gods they served. With each threat, with each conflict, the Children of Akatosh knew in their hearts that they did not stand alone.

For those in the service of life never have…and they never will.

* * *

AN: Took me FOREVER to write this epilogue, and I hope it's everything you all hoped for. I couldn't quite figure out how to wrap this up, so if it seems like I'm rambling in certain parts, I apologize. I've been in a weird headspace lately, and it's practically a miracle that I've been able to muscle my way through this last bit. That said, I will not be getting to the third story immediately after finishing this one. I think I'm gonna take a break from the Elder Scrolls, and perhaps writing in general, so I can focus on my studies. Apart from school and my writing, I basically have no life. Engineer's lot in life, I'm afraid.

Anyway, this is it guys. _Children of Akatosh_ is finished, after about half a year. It has been an incredible journey and experience being able to tell this story to all of you, and I couldn't be more grateful for the awesome reader base I've gained. You guys have been an exceptional audience, more than a few picking apart what you've read to get at the deeper points I try to get across, and I appreciate that because you GET IT. That means I'm communicating all of it adequately and in a way that sinks in. As a writer, there's no greater feeling than knowing that you've succeeded in making an impact on your audience, and through all the emotional ups and downs I've experienced writing this story, that has been the one constant. It's been the one thing keeping me going more days than I'd care to admit.

For now, though, I'll have to bid you _adieu_ , as life happens and I want to live it to its fullest. You have these two stories, some of the most voluminous and, by the numbers, well-loved I've ever written. And you have an entire library of my work, which, while most is unfinished, I stand behind wholeheartedly (except New Marvel—which should not be read by ANYONE until I rewrite it).

On that note, I'll let you guys pick this epilogue to pieces as you see fit, draw what conclusions you will. Thank you for being such an amazing audience. If you have any questions about my work or what I have planned for the future, feel free to ask.

Hope you enjoyed the journey and have a great new year.

CDrake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Crysis 2: Be the Weapon! – Epilogue: start-1:31—dreaming of Coldharbour, 1:31-end—waking up/"You're not alone, Sera"/finis


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